


hurricanes

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Language, M/M, Physical Abuse, Ryan is a bitch, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart.</i>  The first time I realized what was going on, Brendon had disappeared for three days only to return staggering, bloodied, and bruised.  The first time I ever really saw it, Brendon was curled up on the floor and shaking, blood leaking from his nose and bruises lining his exposed stomach.  That was the first time I stopped it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly. I don’t know why I like abusive!Ryan, but it provides for some of the most perfect segue-ways into the breakup and Spendon. So there.

_September 1, 2006._

 

My parents are back in the car, and so I sit on the blue mattress, letting out a long breath.  It’s been hectic.  After probably the worst freshman year of college ever, I’m not too excited to be back here for my second year, but I’m hopeful at the same time.  This year around, I don’t have to deal with a shitty roommate, a bitch for a boyfriend, and a lying best friend.  Did I mention he was all three of those things?

 

My new roommate has yet to arrive, though I know a little about him.  After all the shit last year, I worked with Merrill, the main building on campus that deals with just about everything, and sorted out who might be a good, lasting roommate for me.  We ended up with a Vegas native, Brendon Urie.  He was my age, and he’d roomed with his boyfriend last semester, though the school had asked them to room separately for their second year.  The details of why weren’t disclosed.  By my figuring, I was essentially getting a single unless, of course, they chose to stay in here.

 

It’s not too bad, the room, and it’s definitely better than my shit-tiny room last year.  There’s only one window, and I took the bed away from it, seeing as I’m not too fond of pot smoke, and we’re right against the porch outside.  That, and I’m not too fond of the night sky either; space terrifies me.  The beds are twins, but that’s to be expected.  They’re high off the ground, enough so that I almost have to jump, but I like it.  There’s two dressers, two desks with chairs, two closets, and two large shelves above the desks.

 

Three hours later, I’m finally settled in.  My bedding is simple, just red and grey plaid, but I’ve covered my side with posters of different bands;  I’ve already hung up all my jackets and pants, folded away my boxers, socks, and shirts, and my fridge is plugged in at the foot of my bed.  My bed is pushed into the corner, my feet at the wall opposite the door, and my desk is at the head of my bed.  Beside my fridge is my dresser, just where it was when I walked in, and, in my opinion, invading Brendon’s space.  Brendon.  He still isn’t here, and check-in time is waning away.

 

My parents take me out for lunch downtown.  It’s a college town, and the school caps at two thousand students, so it’s little, but it’s comfortable and liberal and I love it.  Aside from all the drama last year, I really quite enjoyed my classes and the school itself.  When we finish with lunch, I part ways with them outside, full with hugs, kisses, and promises to call before heading back into Mallett, one of the oldest residence halls on campus.  It has a burn time of four minutes.  Awesome.

 

When I open the door to 116 on the first floor, I smile.  There’s music leaking out, Dredg, I think the album is _Catch Without Arms_ , and there’s this black-haired, 5’8”, skinny-jean wearing guy teetering on the edge of his desk and trying to put away a towering stack of books standing atop his dresser.  I knock on the wall to announce my presence, and he turns at the noise, jumping a little.  He bends, and I cough, averting my eyes as his _ass_ sticks right out while he turns down the volume on his speakers.

 

“Hey,” he says cheerily, turning and clumsily stepping down from the desk and onto the chair, “I’m Brendon.”  He quickly wipes his hands on his pants to clear the dust before sticking one hand out, and we shake, and I can’t help but smile.  He’s damn adorable.

 

“Spencer.  Do you need some help?”

 

“Nah, I got it,” he says, offering a smile, “Though I was wondering when you’d be getting back.  I had questions about decorating since I noticed you took the bed away from the window.  Are you against glow-in-the-dark stars?”

 

I laugh, “No, why, did you wanna put some up?”

 

“Well, I was thinking we could totally smash the room out with them,” he pauses to climb back onto his desk, “But that would require you taking down your posters.  Obviously, you can put them back up over the stars, I just want to get the feel first, y’know?”

 

“That’d be really cool.  When d’you wanna do it?”

 

“Tonight, when it’s dark, if that’s okay.  Oh, and I’ve got planets we can hang around the ceiling light.  It can act as the sun, you know?  You’re a sophomore, right?”

 

“That I am,” I say, sighing as I flop onto my bed, “Are you for real?” I add, nodding toward his _Captain America sheets_.

 

“Fucking boss superhero, man,” he grumbles, and I just chuckle and watch him.  He’s alphabetizing his books, that much I can tell from across the room, and it’s definitely _Catch Without Arms_ playing.  He’s already set up his printer, and an iPod is plugged into his laptop.  Other wires are dangling around his desk, and I nod appreciatively at the guitar case leaning out of his closet.

 

“You play?” I ask, nodding my head over to the case.

 

“Mhm.  Do you?”

 

“Drums.”

 

“Cool, cool.  Ryan keeps trying to steal it from me, but I’ve got it padlocked this year.”

 

“Ryan?”

 

“Oh.”

 

He turns halfway, and he looks crestfallen.  I think I’ve hit a nerve, but I don’t know why.

 

“Ryan, uhm… Spencer, I’m gay.”

 

Relief washes over me, and I snap up, eyes wide.  “You’re gay?”  He nods, and I break into a broad grin, shaking my head.  “So am I.”

 

“Dude!” he exclaims, grinning, “Well, I guess that helps the awkward factor.”

 

“So, is Ryan your boyfriend?”

 

Brendon doesn’t answer, and so I leave it alone, and we chat the rest of the day away.  We head to dinner together where I finally catch sight of my best friend, William Beckett.  He envelops me in a bear hug, mussing up my hair and giggling as I groan and try to fight him away.

 

“I haven’t seen you in _so_ long!” he drawls, and I roll my eyes as his lips crash down on mine.

 

“Good to see you, too, Beck,” I laugh, pushing him away, “Stop trying to make out with me before Santino rips my hair out.”

 

“Halfway there, Smith,” Nick Santino, William’s boyfriend, mumbles before his fingers find my sides in a vicious tickle attack.

 

“Oh!  Spencer, you know Brendon?”

 

Nick and I both stop at William’s question, surprise evident in our features.  Brendon is beaming, and he looks ready to burst.

 

“Yea, how do you know him?” I finally respond.

 

“Brendon and I have known each for years!” William exclaims, hugging Brendon to him, “We’ve been through hell and back.  Don’t even tell me you two are roommates.  Oh my gosh, this is going to be amazing.”

 

“Only if you take your hands off my boyfriend,” a sharp voice says, and I watch as this tension that’s practically tangible stiffens the three friends.

 

William retracts his arm from around Brendon and turns, facing a tall, thin man with swept black hair.  He arches one perfect eyebrow, and William just crosses his arms.

 

“What do you want, Ross?” he snaps, and _Ross_ just rolls his eyes before shoving past William and gripping Brendon’s shoulder.  Brendon flinches and tries to back away, but Ross’ hold tightens, and he instantly stops.

  
“Where were you this morning?”

 

“I had to wait for a fucking ride because you left me on the side of the road, _remember_ , asshole?” Brendon spits, “And I want my violin back.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

The man stalks away, and Brendon looks shaken when his presence is gone.

 

“I’ll get it for you, don’t worry.  You’re in 116, right?” William says delicately, draping an arm around Brendon’s shoulders.  Brendon just nods, leaning into him, and I frown.  Something isn’t right, and I can’t place my finger on it just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

_September 6, 2006._

When I get back from class that day, it looks like a tornado has hit the room.  Brendon’s clothes are everywhere, an assortment of tight jeans, loose t-shirts, sweatshirts, sweatpants, socks, briefs of all colors, and even his shoes.  There’s a mountain of jackets, scarves, and hats topped with combat boots.  Classical music is pouring out of his speakers, and his laptop is sitting on top of his dressers, which has all the empty drawers pulled out.

 

“Bren?” I call, stepping into the room carefully.  I look down when the combat boots tumble off the pile, and I sigh as I notice a pair of tattered black and white Converse hightops swaying back and forth sticking out of the closet.  “Bren?” I query a little louder, peeking around, and there he is, legs stretched out, and a violin tucked under his chin.  He flashes me a brilliant smile before lowering his eyes again, his bow sliding across the strings gracefully.  I lean against the wall, watching him, and I slowly catch on, realizing he’s playing along with the music.

 

“Is this…” I trail off, leaning closer to his speakers.

 

“ _Lord of the Rings_ ,” he responds just as the song ends.  “Sorry about the mess,” he continues, sticking out a hand as he puts his bow and violin in the other.  I pull him up onto his feet, and he goes to put away the instrument in a velvet-lined case on his desk.  “I was going to empty my suitcases and put my clothes away finally, but then William walked in with this,” he says, brandishing a hand toward the case as he snaps it shut.  He turns down the music before picking up his iPod and leaning against his desk.

 

“Want me to help?” I ask, going to put my backpack on my bed, “I’m done with classes for the day.”

 

“Yea, sure, if you don’t mind.  Pick a letter.”

 

“B.”

 

“Bullshit.”  I arch an eyebrow, but it quickly turns into a laugh when the Backstreet Boys start playing.

 

Together, we sort through his things, folding them into piles on his bed, and I stop about twenty minutes in, staring at him in disbelief.

 

“What?” he mumbles.

 

“You’re folding a pair of _yellow_ briefs,” I state because, hello, _yellow_ briefs.  They’re not even, like, accidentally dyed yellow or a pale or pastel yellow.  No.  They’re yellow.  Like a school bus.

 

“And?” he retorts.  He puts them away before reaching for a pair of _blue_ , this time nearly pastel, briefs.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“Spencer, you’re in a room with no currently straight men _listening to the Backstreet Boys_ helping me fold my clothes, and you’re questioning what color my briefs are?”

 

I blink at him before shrugging.  “Point taken.”

  
“I take it you wear boxers.”

 

“I also don’t wear skinny jeans.”

 

“They’re not all skinny,” he defends, “I just like to be snug.  It’s more comfortable,” he says, sticking out his tongue, “Plus.  I’ve got a great ass.  Look.”

 

Brendon literally turns around and sticks his butt out toward me, and I just roll my eyes and go back to my folding.

 

“Oh, come on, it’s awesome.  Don’t even tell me you don’t think it’s hot.”

 

“You’re bootylicious, Brendon, now can we move on?”

 

“Awh, Spencer, you’re blushing!” he exclaims, and I grit my teeth together.

 

 _He has a boyfriend_ , I mutter in my head.  I chant that to myself, ignoring Brendon’s stare, and, if I’m not mistaken, he turns away with a downtrodden sigh.

 

It’s quiet for a little bit after that until he starts balling up socks and throwing them at me.  After a few that hit me square in the forehead, I grab his pillow and whip it at him, and he crumbles to the ground as it smacks him in the face.  I fall onto his bed, laughing, but he’s quick, up in a flash and jumping over the scattered clothes and on top of me.  He starts tickling me, and so I kick at him until he finally rolls off the bed, and I jump after him, pulling him into a headlock.  We continue like this, wrestling and screwing around until I collapse with a huff against my dresser and his head falls in my lap, mouth open in a pant and tongue dangling out the side.

 

I look down at him, arching an eyebrow, and he just giggles and turns his face into my thigh, exhaling.  His breath is hot, and I close my eyes, working up my mantra again.  It works, thankfully, and Brendon is turning away after a moment anyway, eyes facing the ceiling again.

 

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you had been single last year?”

 

I frown, nibbling on my lip.  I told Brendon about Josh and everything he did, but I never expected him to bring it up.

 

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you were single now?” I finally say, and he laughs hollowly.

 

“Ryan and I aren’t dating,” he mumbles, cheek leaning against my knee, “We only dated for three weeks.  I don’t even talk to him if I can avoid it.  He’s an asshole.”

 

“But he called you his boyfriend,” I say, confused, looking down at him, but he refuses to meet my eyes.

 

“He does that all the time.  He’s possessive and psychotic.  I don’t know why I let him do what he does.”

 

“Which is?”

 

Brendon surprises me by arching his back and tugging up his t-shirt.  Dancing around his abdomen are red marks, similar to that of a rash, and I gasp, realizing what it is.  Rug burn.  And then he turns a little, showing off his left side and this ugly, purple welt.  As if matters couldn’t get worse, he squirms a little more and flips onto his stomach, and I settle a shaky hand over his back, fingers spreading over the raw, red fist-sized circles.

 

“Where do you think I was this morning?” he grumbles, and my frown deepens.  I don’t know what caused my next actions, but all I know is that Brendon sounds close to tears, and I’ll be damned if I don’t try to comfort him.  And so I reach under his arms and pull at him until he straightens, and I look him in the eyes, palm braced on his cheek.

 

“Why do you let him?” I ask, and his blinks away from my gaze, eyes filling.  “Come here.”  He obeys, and I pull him into my lap, arms wrapping around him as his face settles in the crook of my neck.  His shoulders shake, but he doesn’t cry.  Instead, his breathing is heavy and his face hot, but he refuses to cry.

 

\--

_October 15, 2006._

“So, they just kicked you out?” I ask, disbelieving.

 

It’s late, about two in the morning, but Brendon and I are still awake, lying on our backs and staring around at our glow-in-the-dark room.  We don’t have morning classes, on purpose, and so we spend a lot of our time hanging out late at night, playing music, talking, and just becoming best friends.  I’ve never found someone so alike to me, and I love spending time with him, as he’s told me he does as well.

 

I’ve figured out a lot in the past month and a half.  My initial shock at finding out Brendon was gay slowly turned into admiration which immediately blossomed into a full-blown crush.  My one obstacle was Ross, better known as Ryan, and Brendon’s _thing_.  I wasn’t really sure what they were, and no one seemed keen on talk about it.  They always seemed to be fighting, and whenever they spoke of one another, it was in biting, angry tones.  I couldn’t understand their relationship, but there was definitely something there, and it bothered me to no end, especially watching our friendship grow and grow each day and knowing it would never go anywhere besides.

 

“Yea.  They weren’t happy that I was into music or guys, so they disowned me and put me on the street without even a day to find somewhere to stay.  I crashed at William’s until I could get on my feet, though I’m still living with him.  He’s thinking about getting an apartment, and I’ll definitely be rooming with him.”

 

“That’s cool.  I can’t imagine living away from my parents.”

 

“It was hard to accept.  They were such a big part of my life for so long, and now they’re just nothing.  But, whatever, man, I’ve got my family right here, William and Nick and you.  I love you guys.  You’re like my brothers.”

 

I smile, even though Brendon can’t see it.  It’s rare he expresses anything beyond very basic emotions.  Silence settles over us for a little while, and I’m just starting to doze when Brendon shifts.

 

“Spencer, I’m going to sleep, okay?  I’ll see you in the morning.  Sweet dreams.”

 

He turns again, his back facing me, and I mumble some kind of goodnight before letting myself go to sleep.

 

\--

 

The next morning, I wake up in a rush, tangled in blankets and feverish.

 

“What the fuck,” I grumble, trying to push away my blankets and struggle to lift away from the draw of dreams.  My head feels like someone dropped a boulder on it, and my vision is swimming when I force my eyes open.  And then something warm settles against my leg, and I stop.  I close my eyes, and my dream floods back to me, causing my hardened cock to throb in response.  Oh yea, did I mention I dream about Brendon sometimes?  It’s really great.

 

It’s only happened a few times, but usually I can just ignore it and go about my morning, letting him soften gradually, but this morning he’s fucking _rock solid_ , and I’m feeling antsy.  I lay completely still on my back, reaching up my hands to palm my face.  I can’t, absolutely _cannot_ get off with Brendon just across the room, especially when he could wake up at any second, and I can’t just go in the bathroom.  I’ve heard guys do that, and it’s creepy.  And then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

 

I scramble out of bed, slip into my flip flops, grab my shower caddy, and I’m just swinging my towel over my shoulder, clothes for the day tucked under my arm as Brendon’s alarm goes off, and I sigh.  I _definitely_ would have been caught.

 

“Fuck you,” I mumble when I disrobe in the stall and wait for the water to heat up.  When it finally does, I step inside, eyes closing to the hot water beating down on me.  My hand travels of its own accord, wrapping around my length, and I sigh, closing my fingers tightly.  Images of Brendon, images I shouldn’t even be thinking, flood into my mind, and I work myself fast and with purpose.  I fucking _want_ this, I want to come thinking about him.


	3. Chapter 3

When I return to the room, showered, pleasured, and dressed, Brendon isn’t there.  In fact, he’s not there for the next three days, not in the classes we have together, not at meals, and he’s just gone.  William and I are hanging out, I surfing the web and blasting music from my laptop while he lies with his legs against the wall and Brendon’s guitar against him.  He’s strumming along, his head hanging off the edge of Brendon’s bed when the door handle turns and we both look over.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Brendon’s voice says from outside as the door opens a sliver, “Rachel, I promise.”  He’s talking to our CA, but I can barely contain myself as he continues to wait outside.  “Rachel, please.”

 

He finally enters, and William’s warned me to just act normal.  I don’t know why, but I know there’s no way I can when Brendon walks through that door.  He’s wearing his thick-rimmed glasses, but they do nothing to cover up the giant black eye that’s taken over half of his face.

 

“Bren!” I exclaim, tossing my laptop aside, “What happened to you?”

 

Even William is getting up, setting the guitar down, and unfolding himself so that he’s right side up and staring at Brendon worriedly.  He closes the door behind him, and it’s almost a full minute before anything happens.  But, finally, he sags against the wall, and his shoulders shake as a sob breaks through him.  I’m in shock for a moment until Brendon’s bed springs creak when William gets up, and I jump into action, taking his jacket from his hand and tossing it onto his desk.  I lift one of his arms around my shoulders and help him over to his bed where I sit him down gingerly.

 

“Brendon, what happened?  Where have you been?”

 

William shakes his head the same time Brendon does.

 

“Are you gonna be okay?” William asks as he takes Brendon’s guitar and goes to put it away.  Brendon nods, but I’m not buying it.  “Do you want me to leave or stay?”

 

“I’ll be okay,” he promises in a shaky voice, “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch.”

 

William nods, hugs him goodbye, and leaves, allowing me to stand there in shock, alone.

 

“What is going on?” I demand, eyes raking over his slumped and sad figure.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he whispers, “No, Spencer,” he says when I try to protest, “I just can’t, not yet.  Please accept that.  What time is it?”

 

“Almost ten o’clock.  Are you tired?”

 

“I’m exhausted,” he sighs before pulling himself onto his bed and curling up.  I sigh before setting to work.  I unlace his battered Converse and sit them on the floor next to the rest of his shoes before rolling him onto his side.

 

“Arms up,” I murmur, and he obliges so I can tug his shirt off.  “I wish you trusted me,” I mumble, but my breath catches as his torso is revealed, his black and blue beaten skin.  “Brendon, who did this to you?” I gasp, fingers hovering over his wounds.  He doesn’t answer, and I grit my teeth, tossing his shirt to the end of his bed.  I remove his pants next, leaving him only in his (today) blue briefs, and he pulls his knees to his chest so I can get the blankets out from underneath him and pull them over him.

 

“You don’t have to shut out the light,” he whispers, not facing me, “I’ll sleep with it on.”

 

“No, I’m gonna go to bed, too.”

 

This heavy, thick silence envelops us that’s never been there before, and I know it’s because we’re crossing lines we’ve never even tiptoed before.  This is such dangerous ground, and I don’t even know why.  I’m just locking the door and shutting off the light when Brendon moves, always unable to stay still for too long.

 

“Spencer,” he says into the darkness, and I pause by the door, dressed only in a t-shirt and boxers.  “Spencer,” he repeats, “Can I ask you a favor?”

 

“Anything, Bren.”

 

“Can you hold me?  Please?”

 

I don’t know what compelled me to oblige, but I cross the room in a few short strides and slip under the blankets behind Brendon.

 

“Tell me what happened,” I whisper, settling into his mattress and resting against his back.  His legs are bent, and so I fit mine into the mold of his before wrapping my arms around him and bringing him close to me.

 

“It was just an argument,” he finally says, and I sigh.

 

“An argument that lasted three days?”

 

“Let it go, Spencer.”

 

I want so badly to shake him, to make him understand I care about him, but instead I just squeeze him reassuringly before drifting off, happy just to have him in my arms, just to know he’s safe for this moment.

 

\--

 

The next morning, when I wake up, I’m confused at first.  My back is pressed against the wall, and my arms are hot and heavy.  The breeze from the open window rustles my hair, and I blink.  My bed isn’t next to the window.  I look down, smiling as I see Brendon, still fast asleep.  It’s been just over a month with him, but I’ve grown used to what I’ve dubbed his “sleep sounds.”  It’s very common that Brendon can’t sit still, and I’ve watched him jump from task to task, moving about the room.  It takes him about four hours to complete a simple homework assignment because he just simply cannot stay that still for the needed amount of time.

 

And at night, when I thought surely he’d finally be still, he isn’t.  He shuffles, and he shifts, and his breathing changes pitch and loudness.  Sometimes he snores, but only for a few seconds or so, and I’ve even heard him mumble to himself on a few rare occasions.  More than once, I’ve woken up to him on the floor or hanging half off his bed, still asleep.  Once, he was even in his chair, bent over and head lying in his arms on his desk.  He sniffs, yawns (while sleeping, yes), and he stretches randomly, limbs flying everywhere.

 

So this is what I hear when I wake up, him mumbling sleepily and sniffing.  He’s like a furnace, which explains why I’m so hot and why I moved to the wall, which is frigid, and he’s on top of one of my arms, the other wrapped in his vice-like hold, explaining why they’re so heavy.

 

“Brendon,” I whisper, shaking him, “Bren, you gotta wake up.”

 

“No,” he grumbles, and he lets go of my arm, “Turn off the alarm clock.”

 

I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not, but, in any case, he moves off of my arm, and I take it so I can hit snooze on the buzzing alarm.  I lay back down behind him, propping myself up with one elbow and looking down at him.  He’s so beautiful with his soft, pale skin and his defined features.  I always look to his jaw first; it’s so pronounced and bitable-looking.  His eyes are deep and brown, not dark like most, but an almost honey mixed with soil kind of color, and they’re gorgeous.  And his floppy dark hair, which I love so much, I move my other hand up and push it away from his forehead.  He always keeps it parted unless he’s feeling like Grease and he puffs it up, spraying it back.

 

“Bren,” I murmur, leaning down and ghosting my lips over his ear, “Wake up.  We have class.”

 

He grumbles something again, and so I merely smile before crawling over him and going to get dressed.  He follows eventually, and I’m just exiting the bathroom when he walks in wearing one of my t-shirts, for Christ’s sake, and red briefs.

 

“You could put pants on,” I laugh, leaning against the tile wall.

 

“You smell good,” he returns with sleepily before closing the stall door.  We share a co-ed bathroom, the only one in Mallett, but that’s because our first floor is split on either side of the lobby.

 

Some girl walks in to brush her teeth, and I smirk as Brendon flushes and walks back out, going over to wash his hands.

 

“How do you know what I smell like?” I ask, looking over at him through the mirror.

 

“I’m wearing your shirt, stupid,” he says before sticking out his tongue.  We walk back to our room together where he returns my shirt.  “It was long and the first thing I grabbed,” he says with a shrug.

 

He plugs in his iPod, putting on something soft, and we get dressed, exchanging small talk as we go.  When we exit for our first class, I’m in light ripped jeans and a Smiths t-shirt while he’s wearing fitted dark jeans and a Batman shirt, which he says clashes with his briefs.  “Damn it, I should have worn the yellow ones,” he’s saying as we walk out the door, and I just roll my eyes and laugh.

 

\--

 

_October 30, 2006._

The door slams open, and I look up, wincing when it slams closed and a furious Brendon storms in.  He throws his backpack across the room, and it bounces off my dresser before falling into a heap on the ground, and I slowly sit up, worry blossoming in the pit of my stomach.

 

“I fucking give him _everything_!” he screams, finally facing me, and I scramble out of my bed, nearly knocking my laptop onto my floor.  “Everything!” he continues, shoving me away when I try to pull him toward his bed.  Blood is dried onto his face, trailing from his nose, and one of his eyes is swelled shut.  He moves again, hissing in pain, and he stops his frantic movements for a second to look over to his torn shirt.

 

“THIS IS MY FAVORITE FUCKING SHIRT!” he screams, and I jump back as he rips it off, desperate to get out of it.  He bends over as he does, gasping, and I watch, afraid to approach.  When he straightens, I grit my teeth together and brace myself.  I push forward, but he doesn’t even try to stop me.

 

“Why,” I begin, fury turning my vision red, “is your shoulder bleeding?”  He opens his mouth to say something, but then I lean him into the light, and something flashes off the wound.  I peer closer, and, “ _Why the fuck is there glass in your shoulder_?” I roar, fists clenching.

 

Brendon glares at me a moment before trying to push me away and go toward his torn shirt.  He staggers with the movement, and I grunt out a “woah” as his knees collapse underneath him.  I catch him as he heads for the ground, and he’s out cold in my arms.  Sighing, and I heave him up until I can drag him over to his bed where I set to cleaning his wounds.  He wakes up with a hiss, flinching violently, when I tug the glass out of his shoulder.  There’s other little shards, and I grab his tweezers to get these before leaving him lying on the bed to go wet a face cloth.  When I come back, he’s sitting up and looking out the window.

 

I sit next to him, cross-legged, and slowly clean his shoulder before fixing a hot, damp paper towel over it.  He bites his lip when I apply pressure to stop the bleeding, but he doesn’t say a word, and I frown.  I look him over, checking for any other injuries, but his toned torso is devoid of the usual bruises.

 

“There,” I say, getting off his bed after a little while, “Wrap it if you want.”

 

I don’t say anything else before crossing the room and getting back onto my bed, pushing my back against the wall and setting my laptop on my lap again.  It’s almost an hour before anything happens.  Brendon finally gets off his bed, and he’s a little unsteady on his feet, but, otherwise, he’s fine.  I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and he strips out of his jeans and into a pair of grey sweatpants that are baggy and hang down on his hips, exposing the soft rounds of bone the shape up into his muscled stomach.  I quickly look away, swearing under my breath as I feel myself hardening in my shorts.  He remains shirtless, and flops onto his back on his bed with headphones in, and I watch him for just a few seconds longer before turning back to my screen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a rough chapter, guys. You’ve been warned.

_November 9, 2006._

I push Brendon’s hair back off his forehead, resisting the urge to kiss his temple in an act of comfort.  We’re lying on my bed, and he’s weak.  He barely made it back to our room, though it’s been four hours since he first walked in and fell on the floor.

 

“How do you think you did on your paper?” I ask softly, reaching to pull the blanket over him as he shivers involuntarily.

 

“Pretty good,” he mumbles, “I was a little tired when I was editing it, but I think it’s solid.  How about you?”

 

“She totally stares at my ass.  I’m acing it.”

 

He laughs, tightening his hold on me, and I just hug him closer to me, sighing and closing my eyes.  I’m on my back, and he’s on his side.  It’s barely even late afternoon, and we have a class together in an hour, but I’m content to just lie here a bit longer and enjoy his company.

 

“Spencer!  Spencer!” a sudden voice breaks our embrace, and Brendon rolls off the bed with a loud thud and a hearty groan as the door bangs open.  “Spencer, I—” William’s mouth drops open, and he stares at Brendon’s crumpled form on the ground and me just sitting up in bed.  I’ve never seen him move so fast in my life, but, next thing I know, William Beckett is straddling my waist and pinning me to the bed with his hands around my throat.  “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he hisses dangerously, nose practically touching mine.

 

“Beck,” Brendon whines from the ground, “He didn’t hurt me.  I fell off the bed.”

 

William releases my next, and I gasp, but remains on top of me.  “Why were you on the bed?” he asks.

 

“Because we were cuddling,” Brendon mumbles into the blue shag rug; _his_ blue shag rug, I’m not _that_ gay.

 

William sits there a moment longer before shrugging and getting off of me, going over to click the lock on the door.  “You should probably do that if you’re going to cuddle and whatnot,” he says before hopping onto Brendon’s bed, “Oh, go on, I’m not stopping you.  I just have really exciting news.”  Brendon lifts his head and stares at our friend suspiciously, and William sighs.  “Bren, I really like Spencer, like, a lot, so if you do, too, then I’m super happy because he’s way better than fucktard.”

 

“I know,” Brendon mumbles before pushing himself up onto his knees.

 

William frowns as Brendon winces.  Still staring skeptically at William, I pull Brendon onto the bed, and he lays down, his back to me now.  I tug the blankets back over him, to which he smiles gratefully and shifts back a little until he’s resting against me.  I stay propped up on one elbow, and William just smiles.

 

“You guys are really cute.  Anyway, well, you’re never going to believe this.”  We each raise an eyebrow, so he continues, “Nick and I had sex!”  He covers his mouth, but his smile is wide, and his eyes are shining.

 

“No way!” Brendon exclaims, breaking into a broad grin, “When?”

 

“Last night!” William exclaims, “He was all, I know you’re basically a slut, and it’s been really hard not doing anything like sex while you’ve been with me, but I really love you, and gah, Brendon!  It was so amazing!”

 

“William has fucked at least every attractive gay man, and some straight men, on this campus.  Nick and him started dating last year, and Nick was a virgin, so he asked Beck to wait, and he did.”

 

I smile, nodding.  I remember listening to William fume about how “goddamn fucking horny I am.  Spencer, will you please just let me fuck you?”  He’d always laughed everytime, despite how much he knew he would have enjoyed it, and told him to just wait it out, Nick would be worth it.

 

And so we talk about their night for the next hour until Brendon and I pull ourselves out of bed to go to class, and William actually walks us to class and keeps on talking that whole way there.  And, for the first time in a while, Brendon actually looks excited and happy.

_\--_

_November 18, 2006._

I’m banging against my desk with a pair of drumsticks while William strums along on his guitar, singing his little heart out when there’s this loud _bang_ on the door, and I instantly stop, looking over curiously.  William brings his strumming down to a light and soft volume, though he stops altogether when there’s another, quieter bang and then a whimper.  I get up out of my chair, leaving my sticks on my desk.  When I open the door, however, Brendon falls through onto the floor, and William vaults off the bed as I drop to my knees and scoop him up.  He’s heavy, like dead weight, and I grunt as my knees buckle a little.

 

“Move your guitar,” I say to William, letting the door slam behind me.  I quickly lay him down, stripping him of his backpack and jacket before sitting on the edge of the bed and laying a hand on his cheek.  “Brendon, can you hear me?  Brendon?”  He doesn’t respond, something that scares me, and I look up at William, who just shrugs.  “Bren?”  I take his shoulder to shake him, and he cries out, convulsing violently.

 

“Get up,” William orders suddenly, and I move only to have him turn Brendon on his side.  Horror crosses his features, and he rolls him onto his back again, gently, before taking his chin between his index finger and thumb.  “Look at me,” he demands, and Brendon’s eyes immediately open, wide and fearful.  “Who am I?”

 

“William,” he mumbles, his voice shaky.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Beck,” I try, nervous at his vicious tone, but William just shoots me a deathly glare.

 

Brendon’s eyes flick to the wall, and his whole body relaxes.

 

“Hey,” William snaps, shaking him, “Where are you?”

 

“My room.”

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Brendon.”

 

“Who is that?”  Brendon looks over at me, and he doesn’t say anything.  “Who is that, Brendon?”  Still, he doesn’t say anything.  He just stares at me.  “ _Brendon_!” William shouts, and he flinches, eyes squeezing shut.

 

“It’s Spencer, you fuck!  I—”

 

“No,” William cuts him off, “What happened?  Brendon, fucking _look at me_!  What did he do?”  He remains silent, eyes closed.  “Brendon Urie!” William roars, and his hand leaves his chin to grip his shoulder.  Brendon screams as William holds his fingers tightly, and I try to pull him away, but he just stomps on my foot, and I stumble backward.  “What happened?” he shouts, and I watch as his hold tightens and tightens until—

 

“Fuck you!” Brendon roars, “He raped me!  Again!  Are you happy?”

 

William instantly lets go, and I fall onto my bed, shock coursing through me.  “Why did you do that?” I demand.

  
“Because this has happened before, Spencer,” he replies sharply and emotionlessly, “And last time, I didn’t see Brendon smile until he told me all about his new roommate and how amazing he was.  One day, and you brought him back to life.  I won’t lose him again, not because of that psycho.  Look, I’m not—I can’t,” he corrects, “I have a major test in ten minutes.  I have to go.  Bren, what is it this time?” he pauses, looking to the shaking Brendon.

 

“Nothing,” he responds, and I frown.  I have no idea what’s going on between them.

 

“Fine.  Have it your way.  You’re fucking stupid, though.”

 

“Wait, what does that mean?”

 

“That means you’re not taking him to the campus doctor.  Don’t argue with me, Spencer.  He’ll fight tooth and nail to stay here.  Trust me, he almost gashed my eye last time.  You have to be discreet.  Go into the handicap stall with him.  Don’t make any noise.  Rachel, or anyone, _cannot_ find out you’re in there.  Spence, I know you probably wanna bone him, but you gotta put that aside and help him, alright?  Don’t look at me like that.  Last time, he collapsed in the shower, and I had to go in there with him.  My first thought: fuck, I’m gonna see Brendon Urie’s dick; it’s all gonna go downhill from here.  Let me make this very clear.  _You have to go in with him_.  I don’t care what you think or what your morals are.  I don’t care if you’re secretly straight or something.  You have to.  If he falls, which he very well might, he’ll hurt himself.  He knows what to do.  Take care of him.  Brendon,” his tone suddenly softens, and he goes over to the bed again, sitting on the edge, “I love you.  This needs to stop.”  He leans down, pressing first a very delicate and quick kiss to his lips before leaving a harder one on his forehead, his hands braced on either side of his face.  “I’ll be back as soon as I finish.  Don’t cry.  That’s his job.”

 

William leaves without another word, and I look over at Brendon, who has his knees pulled up to his chest now and is staring resolutely at the floor.

 

“Okay,” I mumble, “You can do this.”

 

I pull myself up and go over to Brendon’s closet where he keeps his blue caddy, leaving it on the desk before I go into his dresser where I pull out a pair of purple briefs, honestly, his baggy grey sweats, and a pair of clean socks.  I dump those on his bed before going back over to my dresser, and sifting through until I find one of my larger shirts that I usually wear to bed and adding that to his pile.  He watches me, and I catch a smile as I fold my shirt.  I gather both of our towels before sitting on my bed and yanking off my socks.  Flip flops on, I get a new pair of boxers, basketball shorts, and a cotton white t-shirt before going over to Brendon and pulling off his socks.

 

“Can you walk?” I ask quietly, brushing his hair away from his face.

 

“I just need to lean on you,” he whispers, holding out his hand.  I pull him up, draping his arm around my waist, and I hold tight on the other side before helping him over to the desk where he picks up our clothes, and I gather the towels and caddy.

 

We make it to the bathroom without being seen, and I’m just shutting the door when someone walks in.  I settle him on the toilet before going over to turn on the water.  I motion to him, and he lifts his arms unsteadily.  He uses the bar next to the toilet to hold himself against while he steps out of his jeans and briefs, and he moves toward the shower, waving me away when I try to help him.  When I set the caddy down beside the wall next to the shower and enter, however, he’s leaning in the corner, eyes closed and the water beating against his legs.  I train my eyes on his face, but I don’t need to regardless.  All I can think of is that bastard.

 

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” he whispers when I close the curtain, “I wish you never saw any of this.  I wouldn’t ask for your help, but I can’t even stand,” he admits.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?  I really don’t mind,” I add when he opens his eyes, surprised, “If you need to, I can listen.  I just want to help, in any way I can.”

 

And so he tells me as I help him wash up, mostly just keeping him steady or watching him so as to make sure he doesn’t stumble or fall.  He doesn’t go into detail, though he does tell me about his legs.

 

“The first time Ryan did this, it was inside.  He shoved me against the door, and the handle bruised my hip.  It was black for almost a month.  He doesn’t prep at all.  He doesn’t use lube except on himself, and he’s hard.  He’s fast.  He _tries_ to hurt.  This time, it was outside.  Against the bricks.  Spencer, imagine being pressed flat against a rock wall and your entire body jamming off of it repeatedly.  Imagine what that does to you.”

 

“And then you can’t walk.  I get it.  Uhm… how do you… I mean… how do you, uh—”

 

“Sit?” he cuts me off, turning around, and I catch his elbow as he sways.  He closes his eyes, and I step forward, fingers curling around his upper arms.  He shakes his head, and he tries to move, but then he stops again, staggering a little.  He points to the curtain, and I just go with it, opening it.  He opens his eyes at the noise, and he slips away from my grip, nearly falling onto the tile floor, but I turn away as he vomits violently into the porcelain bowl.  It’s a couple minutes before he stops, and I go to collect him, flushing away the evidence.

 

“Almost done,” I promise, and he just nods.

 

It’s only about five more minutes before we’re dressing, and I check the bathroom and just outside of the hallway before leading him out and back to the room.  There, he uses the furniture to help himself around, and he rifles through his desk drawers until he straightens, a square cloth in his hand.

 

“Can you microwave this for five minutes?  There’s rice inside.  It’ll smell horrible, but it feels like bliss,” he says when I take it questioningly.

 

And five minutes later, he’s lying on his stomach, the cloth square resting on his ass.

 

“It really sucks to sit, but only for a week or so.”

 

Silence settles around us, and I should have realized I wasn’t supposed to let that happen.  Because barely minutes into it, Brendon hiccups, and, for the first time since I’ve met him, he cries, and I just lie with him and comfort him to the best of my ability.  He doesn’t deserve this.


	5. Chapter 5

_November 29, 2006._

I shift onto my back, brain fuzzy and eyes closed.  I’m half-asleep, almost entirely gone, and it’s late, almost three o’clock in the morning.  And then the blanket suddenly lips and my legs are exposed to the cold of the room, and I whine, trying to push away until I realize it’s a lot darker.  I look u pat the body looming over me, and I blearily blink up at the person, trying to identify them.  Then they sigh, and one leg slips in next to me, and Brendon’s ass bumps my hip.  His face is illuminated by the stars on the walls, and I watch him, unsure of what’s going on.  He doesn’t say a word, though, just pushes the arm that’s slung across my chest underneath him and curls up next to me, head resting on my shoulder.  And I just smile and wrap my arms around his little body, holding him close to me.  I’ve never slept so well in my entire life.

 

When I wake up the next morning, it’s Saturday, and my alarm is buzzing about twelve o’clock.  Lunch closes at one on the weekends, and so I start to get up to shut off the alarm only to realize my arm is trapped beneath something.  I look down and beam as I notice Brendon.  He wrinkles his nose, reaching one fisted hand up to rub his eyes, and my heart melts.

 

“I kind of need this,” I whisper, wriggling my arm.

 

“Mm, Spence,” he mumbles, pulling one fist away to peer up at me.

 

His eyes are so sleepy, and they look heavy and I can’t help the smile that stretches my lips even wider as he yawns, just a tiny little yawn, and a soft mewl escapes his mouth.  God, he’s fucking adorable in the morning.

 

“Brendon, the alarm,” I try again, attempting to snake my arm out, and he looks up at me again, confusion written all over his face.

 

“Alarm?” he says, and I just roll my eyes and lean over to tuck my other hand underneath his neck.  I lift him up so I can extract my arm, and I go to release him when his hand flies to my head, and his lips crash into mine, fingers fisting in my hair.

 

“Spencer,” he moans, and oh fuck.

 

His tongue slides along my bottom lip, and I immediately open to him, shuddering as our mouths connect, opening and tongues swirling around one another.  My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest, or my throat, but I don’t care.  I don’t care that he has an abusive boyfriend, I don’t care that he can probably feel how hard I’m getting, and I really, really don’t care that this is _so wrong_.

 

“Spencer,” he groans, pushing me off of him and rolling so that he’s straddling my waist.  He slams a fist down onto the alarm to shut it up before attacking my mouth again, tugging and pulling at my shirt desperately.  It’s not working, though, and so I shove him away, yanking the shirt off myself, and he comes back down, skin on skin, and, oh fucking fuckers fuck, he’s grinding into me, and he’s so hard.

 

I roll us again, desperate to get away from his hips, just for a second, and I pin him onto the bed, mouth working furiously against his.  God, I want this.

 

“Brendon,” I gasp, pulling away, and he doesn’t waste any time kicking away the blankets hurriedly and ripping down my boxers.

 

“Oh fuck, Spencer,” he moans, and he squirms a little underneath me, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Spencer, get off.”

 

I feel like a bomb has been dropped on my head, and, when I don’t move immediately, he pushes me away and stumbles off the bed, falling onto his knees and shaking his head.

 

“No, I can’t.  I can’t do this.  I can’t pull you into this.”

 

“Brendon,” I groan, palming my face.  I have to think clear, I have to be reasonable.  I force myself to calm down, to empty my thoughts, and I look back to him.  “Brendon, I’m not going to hurt you.  I never will.”  When he doesn’t respond, I climb off the bed and go to kneel in front of him, lifting his chin so that his eyes meet mine.  “You can trust me.”

 

“I know,” he whispers, “But I can’t.  I can’t do this to you.  You don’t deserve this.”

 

I shake my head violently before capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss, trying to convey every ounce of love I feel for him.  He _has_ to know this is different, that I’m not _him_.  And he lets me, pulling himself onto my lap and lowering me onto my back.

 

“Please be careful with me,” he whispers, and I look up into his eyes, and he’s afraid.

 

I nod, sealing it with a kiss before rolling us so that he’s on his back and I’m knelt between his knees.  I don’t care that we’re on the floor and that the door probably is unlocked and Brendon’s shaking because he looks at me, and I know everything is going to be alright.

 

I pull off his boxers slowly, revealing his thick, long cock.  I smile, and I lean down to kiss along his hips, causing him to squirm.  I offer him my hand, and he takes three fingers in his mouth, sucking and lapping his tongue over them.  I groan, biting into his hip, and he shifts under me, stomach caving in with a sharp breath.  I take my fingers back and rub one over his entrance, smiling as his eyes roll into the back of his head and he whines.

 

“Spencer,” he growls, and I slip one finger inside, silencing him.

 

I keep my mouth busy around his hips for a while longer, curling my finger inside of him, and, when I add two, he hisses, clenching around me.

 

“Relax, Bren,” I whisper before taking the head of his cock in my mouth and lapping my tongue around him.

 

He groans, rocking into my fingers, and I smile before curling and pushing farther.  He inhales, shaky, and his hips lift off the ground.

 

“Right there?” I murmur, kissing him.

 

“Spencer,” he whines, and I add a third finger, stretching and scissoring, “Fuck yes, Spencer.  God, I’m ready.  Please.”

 

“One second,” I murmur before leaning back on my heels toward my dresser and pulling open the bottom drawer.  I fish around until I find my box of condoms and rip open one of the gold packages as I run my hand over my dick, bringing him to full attention.  Brendon moans when I ready myself against him, pressuring his hole and kissing his stomach.

 

“You ready?” I ask, looking up at him.

 

He nods, and I slowly push inside of him, panting as I pass through muscle so tight, it’s making my vision swim.

 

“Brendon,” I gasp as he hitches his legs around me and I let my forehead fall onto his, “Fuck, Bren, you gotta relax.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I love you.”

 

I bury myself to the hilt, breathing heavy as he finally, slowly unclenches, calming himself and steadying his breathing.

 

“I swear to God, I will never hurt you,” I promise before pulling out and pushing back in, slow and careful.

 

I continue this pace, letting both of us adjust, and I leisurely pick it up as he allows himself to open up more and more, his features relaxing and his hips moving against my own.

 

“Spencer, goddamn it,” he groans, scratching the back of my neck, “Faster, _please_ ,” he growls, arching his back and biting his lip.

 

I oblige, but I’m still careful, I want him to know this is okay.  My forehead rubs against his as I continue to thrust into him, and my brow furrows in frustration.  I pick up the pace again, pushing a little harder, and he’s panting now, writhing and I just want to—yes.  He moans suddenly, loudly, and I grin devilishly, sliding over his prostrate again and again, watching as he squirms and arches beneath me.  Fuck yes.

 

“God, Brendon, you’re beautiful,” I moan before pulling him into a deep kiss and wrapping my hand around his throbbing cock.

 

I work him as I thrust deep inside of him, and he suddenly tightens around me, a strangled noise ripping from the back of his throat.

 

“Fuck, I’m close,” he bites out, and I pump him harder, letting my forehead fall to his shoulder as I gasp out breaths, and I can feel warmth starting to pool in my stomach, fire licking my insides, and I want this so bad.

 

“Oh fuck, Spencer, fuck, fuck,” he chants, nails digging into my shoulders, “Fuck,” he whines, and he clenches tight around me, head slamming into the ground and toes curling as he finishes over our stomachs, a throaty moan tumbling out of him.  I stroke him quickly, and he rides out his orgasm for a surprising length of time, not breathing and mouth hanging open, and it’s only when he groans and sinks back into the ground, gripping my wrist to stop me that I feel a trickle of fire slip through my belly, and I curse, biting his shoulder and slamming almost painfully into him.

 

“Spencer, come for me,” he whispers in my ear before his tongue darts out, and he sucks on my lobe, “Spencer, I want you to come.  Please, Spencer,” he moans, and my muscles tense, and I let out a low growl, biting his shoulder again and hitting him hard, spilling over with a gasp, and my hips thrust with no rhythm, quick and desperate.  “Yes,” he hisses, “Yes.”

 

“Nng,” I groan, collapsing on top of him, shaking and so out of breath.

 

“Your fucking alarm is going off, and it’s really annoying.  Oh.”

 

My head shoots up, and my eyes meet Nick’s, my mouth open and gasping for breath.

 

“Are they awake?” a voice asks from behind him, and William pushes Nick into the room so he can step into the doorway.  “Oh fuck,” he hisses, taking Nick by the back of the shirt again and yanking him out.  I can hear them yelling at each other in the hallway as I look back down at Brendon, and he’s grinning like a kid in a candy shop.

 

“What?” I mumble, rubbing his nose with mine before kissing him softly.

 

“You’re fucking amazing,” he responds, “That’s what.  And I’m hungry, and William’s probably gonna kill us, and I’m pretty sure Nick has a boner now.”

 

I just laugh before sliding out of him, and we both emit small noises as I collapse against my dresser, peeling off the condom.

 

“That was awesome, Brendon,” I say, looking over at him as he slowly pulls himself up and looks for his boxers.

 

“Fuck yea, it was.  We gotta remember to lock the door, though.”

 

I just nod in response before picking myself up and going to throw out the condom.  We dress in boxers and t-shirts before grabbing our flip flops and caddies, and, when I open the door, William is making out with Nick against the wall.  They pull apart when the door closes, and William arches an eyebrow.

 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Brendon says before taking my hand and pulling me off toward the showers.

 

\--

_December 27, 2006._

Brendon and I decide to stay at school during winter break, and we take a class together.  I know I’m staying mostly because he is and because I don’t feel like he’s safe away from watchful eyes like myself and William.  Sometimes Brendon disappears for days again, once even for a week, and he always returns in horrible condition, looking like he’s been bulldozed over.  He never tells me, but I always hold him, always banish his nightmares away.

 

Things are weird between us now.  We haven’t done anything since that day in November, and it bothers me, knowing he’s still with that fuck.  And then one night toward the end of December, Brendon shifts suddenly, and I look down at him, smiling as he flops around until he’s facing me.  It’s early in the morning, only about four, but I just got back from the bathroom.  Brendon grasps for me, and a smile touches his lips before he snuggles closer to me, legs meshing with mine and _his hips brushing against mine_.

 

I try to swallow the rising lump in my throat and force my budding arousal to _go the fuck away_ , but Brendon’s already awake and looking up at me.

 

“Make love to me,” he whispers, and he doesn’t give me any time to react before his hand flits down my side and into my boxers.  I bite my lip as his fingers curl around my hardening cock, and he squeezes, rolling his hand over me.  He stops only to nudge me onto my back before his other hand slips down my boxers before taking position on my balls, and I groan, eyes rolling into the back of my head.  He’s only at it for a few minutes before I’m full and ready, and he crawls over me, getting out of bed to bend at the foot of my dresser.  He returns to his bed with a condom, and I leave the package on his nightstand as he lies with his back to me and takes my hand in his mouth.  I prep him quickly, stretching him out and sighing as he rubs back against me occasionally.  His hand moves to his cock, and he strokes himself slowly, and I allow it, if only for now.

 

“Bren,” I murmur, and he reaches up for the package, ripping the gold foil open with his teeth before handing me the condom, and I’m pushing myself into him in no time, his ass settling on my lap.

 

“Slow, Spence, okay?”

 

“Slow,” I repeat, and he smiles.

 

I do just that, making my thrusts steady and soft, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  My heart bubbles with this insatiable love, and I want nothing more than to kiss him for the rest of the night and stay buried inside of him, letting him know I’m right here, I’m never going to leave.

 

Rain is dripping onto the windows with a rhythmic beat, and I move along to the sound of the pitter patter, and I can tell he’s calmer than he’s ever been.  He’s so at peace.

 

“Spencer,” he whispers, and I respond with a soft grunt.  “Spencer, I love you,” he murmurs, and I can’t help the smile that breaks out onto my face.

 

“I love you, too, Brendon.  I really do.”

 

I pick up the pace a little, if only to keep all parties involved interested.  Brendon suddenly jumps, and I stop altogether, worry crossing my features, and then a crack of lightning lights up the sky, and he whimpers.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yea, I’m fine.  I just… I hate lightning.”

 

I pull myself out of him, and he scrambles to look at me, fear crossing his features.  I nudge his shoulder until he lies on his back.

 

“Then just look at me and don’t think about it,” I whisper before pulling his legs up around me and entering him again.  “I’m right here,” I promise, “I’ll take care of you.  I’ll protect you.”

 

He smiles up at me, eyes glassy, and I just kiss him before picking up my rhythm again.


	6. Chapter 6

“Yea, can I have two chicken quesadillas, one with mushrooms and tomatoes, the other with peppers and bacon?  Both on wheat wraps.  Thanks, man,” I say before heading off to find drinks.

 

Brendon is back in the room, curled up under the blankets and hiding from the storm.  I’m two streets over in the bottom floor of the Student Center, getting food in the Snack Bar.  I snatch up a raspberry lemonade for him because it’s his weakness before finding a Pepsi for myself.  A Reese’s and Starburst later, I’m paying and waiting for the quesadillas.  I get a bag to hold everything before pulling up my hood to my sweatshirt, tightening my jacket around me, and heading back out into the rain.  It’s not even a five-minute walk back to Mallett, but, as I’m crossing the street, I see an all too familiar figure walk in.  I hurry up the steps, and I’m just rounding the corner to our hallway as our door slams shut and the lock clicks.

 

“Fuck,” I hiss, running down the hall and dropping the bag next to the door, “Brendon!” I shout, “Brendon, open up!”

 

Something crashes inside of the room, and I yell wildly, slamming my shoulder against the door.  I don’t have my key because I never thought this would happen.  Neither of us did.  Ryan doesn’t know where Brendon lives; we made sure of that.  Ryan lives in FAB, three residence halls behind us, and it’s about a ten minute walk between the two buildings.  Brendon never told him he was living in Mallett, and William, Nick, and I made sure we didn’t, and he’s not even supposed to be here.  He’s supposed to be home, pissed off because Brendon is still at school.

 

“ _Brendon_!” I scream, and I groan as my shoulder slams into the door again painfully.  There’s this sound like a body hitting a wall, and I take to pounding on the door as another door opens just a few down.

 

“Hey!  Spencer!” Rachel, our CA, yells, rushing over to me, “What’s going on?”

 

Before I can respond, my door flies open, and I land in the threshold as Ryan steps out and stalks down the hall toward the lobby.  I look up, and Brendon’s lying on the floor, nose bleeding and pale skin bruised and slashed open.

 

“Spencer,” he gasps, and I only have to look at his eyes to know.

 

I shove myself up off the ground and sprint after Ryan as Rachel shouts for me to stop.  Doors open as I run, and I slam through the front door as Ryan reaches the last step, his hood pulled up over his head.  I literally jump from the top step and crash into him, toppling us over into the ground.  His face meets the muddy grass, and he starts shouting obscenities as I quickly pull myself up and punch him in the back of the head.

 

“Fuck you!” he screams, throwing me off of him and pulling his arm back.

 

I kick him in the groin with all my strength, and he flies backward, coughing and spluttering.  I’m on my feet in seconds, and I pull Ryan onto his, rain splashing around us as I send my fist into his face.

 

“You have no right!” I roar, slamming him up against the brick wall of the building, “He’s done nothing but love you!  He’s given you everything, and you just take, take, take!”

 

“You’re the one fucking him, right?” Ryan shouts back, his voice hoarse, “Don’t play fool with me, I can tell when _my_ boyfriend feels different!”

 

“He’s not your boyfriend!” I screech, “He’s nothing to you!  How _dare_ you hurt him like that!  He’s safe, finally, and you fuck everything up, everytime!”

 

My next punch catches him off-guard, and his head bangs against the bricks, and he groans, his weight sagging underneath my force.

 

“Spencer,” a voice says from behind me, and Rachel pulls me off of Ryan as he slumps to the ground, “We called the police.  Leave it to them.  Go back to Brendon; he needs you.”

 

He certainly did.  He’s trying to struggle up when I walk in, bringing the bag in with me as I go.  I set him up on my bed, back pressed against the wall, and he thanks me with a kiss before I move to clean him up.  He holds a tissue to his nose, staunching the flow of blood, and I only pause in my work when there’s a knock on the door, and I allow a police officer to enter.

 

He takes to Brendon mostly, though he addresses a few questions here and there to me.  When I finally finish my tending and go to get Brendon a shirt, he actually speaks first, looking right at the officer.

 

“I want a restraining order on him.  I don’t know why I never asked for one before, but I can’t do this anymore.  I hate him.”

 

The officer nods, “I was hoping you’d say that.  We’ve been waiting for that verdict ever since last year.”

 

I look over, and Brendon sighs.  “Ryan put me in the hospital last year,” he admits, and my jaw drops, “Don’t worry about it.  It’s in the past.”

 

“But you didn’t press charges?” I exclaim, turning.

 

“No, Spencer, I didn’t.  Can you please just forget about it?  It’s over.”

 

I nod before going over to give him his shirt and then taking the bag of food so I can search through it for his quesadilla.  He thanks me, opening the white container.  His smile finally comes back, though, when I toss him the Starburst and lemonade.

 

“You’re the best,” he says.

 

The police officer excuses himself after a while longer, and we’re left to eat and talk in peace.  We spend the rest of the day in bed, allowing Brendon to recuperate, and we talk about what we are, what we will be.  Despite everything, it turns out to be quite the excellent day.

 

\--

 

_January 20, 2007._

Sometimes I think William walks in on purpose.

 

Originally, I’d been in a pretty harmless mood, just typing away a paper, The Smashing Pumpkins blaring from my speakers, when Brendon crashed through the room.  He comes like a tornado, the door swinging open and papers flying everywhere as he tries to chase them.  It was the slamming of the door that jolted me from my music, and I turn down the volume just a little, watching in amusement as he finally drops everything in his arms and grumbles about stupid words or something.  He sets his guitar down next, and I don’t think he’s noticed me, even though the music is still playing.  I arch an eyebrow as he bends and tears his shirt off, throwing it onto his bed, and I clear my throat, startling him.

 

“Spencer!” he exclaims, turning, “When did you get here?”

 

I laugh and shake my head, “I’ve been here, silly.  Who do you think is playing the music?”

 

“Oh, that’s you!”

 

I laugh even harder, but then Brendon is crossing the room and he sweeps away my laugh in a kiss bent on one objective: to get me riled up.  He tugs at my hair before his leg swings around me and he grinds down into my lap, his tight skinnies doing nothing to hide his erection.

 

“Well, hey,” I say, leaning away from him, “What caused all this?”

 

“I’ve been hard, on and off, for, like, half of the day, and you’re never in here when I try finding you, and I just want to fuck your brains out.”

 

“Oh?” my voice breaks, and he kisses me again, passionate and purposeful.

 

His fingers quickly pull up my t-shirt, and we break so he can slip it over my head.

 

“Move,” he says, trying to push me forward.

 

He wraps his legs around me to steady himself as he takes the sweatshirts on the back of my chair and flip them.

 

“Right here?” I ask, and he answers me by swinging his legs off again and shimmying out of his skinnies.  Oh God, he went commando.

 

“Pants off,” he orders before wiggling his butt over to my dresser, “Spencer,” he groans when he looks over his shoulder, and I’m just sitting there, “ _Please_.”

 

That’s all it takes, and he grabs one of his many pillows, plopping it down on the chair, and what happens next _rocks my world_.  He sits facing me again, gold foil between his teeth, and he puts one hand on the desk behind him before wiggling three of his fingers in front of me.  I take them in my mouth curiously, and he nods when I suck on them.  He pulls them out a few seconds later when they’re shiny and wet, and I watch, agape, as he arches, hand sliding behind him, and he gasps, head dropping back.

 

“Yea,” he grunts when I take his cock in my hand, “Fuck yea.  Shit.”  I watch as he enters another finger, and his breathing becomes a little unsteady.  I can feel his thighs tighten, and he arches a little more, and I reach down with my mouth to trace kisses over his chest.  He shifts a little, rolling almost onto his toes, which are perched on the connecting banner of wood on the bottom of the chair between the two legs.

 

“Stop,” he gasps, jerking away from me, “Just.  Fuck.  One second.”

 

His knuckles whiten with their hold on the desk as he slips in a third finger, and he groans, rocking back into himself.  Fuck.  I’m entranced by him, unable to even move until his head snaps up, and he meets my gaze.

 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice tight, and I nod, reaching down a hand to stroke myself before retrieving the condom from the desk.

 

There’s this slick little _pop_ , and Brendon sighs before taking one of his legs back and turning so that his back faces me.  “You gotta do this,” he mumbles, resting on my thighs, “Okay?”

 

I take his hips in my hands, silently answering him, and he straightens his knees, and I can’t help myself as I lean down and place a soft kiss on his ass.  He chuckles, his hands gripping the desk, before I slowly settle him down onto me, and, _oh my fuck_ , the angle is amazing.  He takes in a shaky breath, head dropping back to my shoulder, and his pale neck is stretched out.

 

“Hold on,” he says when I shift, “Just give me a second.  Fuck, I love you.  You feel so good.”

 

“I love you, too, Brendon,” I promise, kissing just below his ear.

 

We’re still for almost a full minute before I feel the muscles in his legs tighten and he lifts off of me before settling back down slowly.  I curse softly, gripping his hips.

 

“Spread your legs a little.  Just a little,” he gasps, and then it’s go time.

 

The sound of his ass slapping down on me reverberates through the room, mingling with the still roaring sound of music, which has switched to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

 

“God _damn_ it, Spencer,” he bites out, chest heaving.  He brings his head forward, and he works in time with my movements, slamming down onto me, and it’s all I can do not to come right that second.  “Faster.”  I smirk, and his breathing hitches, back arching away from me.  “Spencer,” he whines, and I’m trying, trying so hard.

 

And then the door opens.

 

“FUCK YOU, BECKETT!” Brendon roars, and William’s a little shell-shocked, and he’s definitely having a hard time making his legs move him back out of the room.  “Get out,” Brendon growls, and one of his hands fists.

 

“This isn’t working,” I snap, and Brendon pulls us to a wrenching stop, swinging his legs around to one side and shoving William back out of the door as he starts sputtering.

 

“I don’t care!” Brendon yells into the hallway before slamming and locking the door.  “Spencer,” he says, but I’m already halfway there, “Fuck me so hard.”  His forehead falls against the door as I push into him, taking his hips in my hands and guiding us.  His fist bangs on the door, and this low, husky growl rips from his throat.  There it is.  I pound into him, and he’s unleashing all these sounds I’ve never heard before, these sounds that are bringing me right to the edge.

 

“Fuck, Bren, I’m close,” I gasp against him, a sheen of sweat coating me as I push harder, and he moans, banging his forehead against the door once, twice, and then his muscles clench around me, and he moans again, deep and God, I feel like I’m going to explode.

 

“C’mon, Spence,” he manages to gasp, and he moves his hips down onto me, and I lose all control, staggering a little and coming fast and hard into him.  I can feel his elbow against my side, and his forehead is pressed against the door.  He’s still so tight, and my orgasm finishes with stars popping in my eyes, and I shudder, leaning against him.  I give him a few last, forceful thrusts, aiming straight for his prostrate, and he suddenly falls, chest meeting the door, and I go with him as he leaks out onto the floor, moaning loud enough that anyone walking by or three doors down can hear him, even over the music.

 

The muscles in his ass finally relax, and I pull out, causing him to gasp.  When I step away, he follows, sinking against the wall and panting.  I go to get a few paper towels to clean up his mess after throwing away my own, and he takes them from me, squatting down by the door.

 

Five minutes later, when I’m collapsing back into my chair and staring blankly at my essay, Brendon comes and sits on my lap, legs to one side, and he nuzzles into my neck, arms looped around me.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my skin, “Thank you.”

 

“I love you, too, baby,” I return, hugging him tightly.

 

And then, “Hey, can I come in now?”

 

“Beckett!” we both yell, and Brendon goes to open the door for him.


	7. Chapter 7

_Brendon._

_March 1, 2007._

We’re in the middle of a writing exercise when I feel William nudge me.  I look up at him, but he just nods toward the door, and I take in the terrified-looking accepted students walking in.  They have days spread throughout the second semester when newcomers that have been accepted into the school take tours, sit in on classes, and take up a quarter of our dining hall.  It always pisses me off.

 

Of course, they interrupt our exercise and make us shift around so that there’s one in between each of us, and I just sigh and slide over, putting a large enough distance between William and I.  This kid with curly brown hair to his shoulders and this adorable little mole sits in between us, and I smirk as I notice William’s eyes light up.

 

“Hey, I’m William Beckett,” he introduces, turning to the kid and holding out a hand, “That’s my partner in crime, Brendon Urie.”

 

“Alex DeLeon,” he says, smiling at us.  God, he’s cute.

 

“Well, Alex, what do you think of the school so far?”

 

“It’s really awesome.  I really love it.”

 

“That’s excellent.  Hopefully, we’ll be seeing a lot of you next year.”

 

I roll my eyes.  “Way to be subtle, William.”

 

“Shut it, Urie.  So, are you going to lunch after this?”

 

“Yea, me and my two friends.  They’re across the room.”

 

“You’ll have to introduce us afterward, and we can go to lunch together.”

 

“That would be great,” Alex breaks into a beam, “Thanks so much.”

 

“Of course, of course.  Yes, Salerno, shutting up now.  I was just playing nice.”

 

“Play nice outside of class.  Urie, read.”  I sigh before looking down at the doodles scratched around the small piece of prose I’ve written.

 

“Really?” I try, looking back up at her.

 

She arches an eyebrow, and I nod, looking back down.  “So I did the activity prompt,” I start, and William snickers.  I shoot him a glare before leaning back in my seat and beginning, “It’s like a contortion of music, limbs spilling around and tangling and meshing, and there’s every part of a full swing band, every trumpeting call, every whistling tune.  Your expression is the crescendo to _oh_ , and the strings are singing, breaking and snapping into _oh, oh, oh_.  It’s reminisce of a horseman, headless, and there’s mist and the loud drum roll, and then there’s silence and an _oh_.  It breaks, climaxes, and your face is the picture of a standing ovation, a bowing in full tuxes, and you leave the stage, _oh, oh, oh_.”

 

I finish, sinking a little into my seat and letting out a puff of air.  Alex is wide-eyed beside me, and I offer him a quick smile before turning back to Salerno.

 

“Excellent.  Farro, read.”

 

I don’t hear Josh’s piece as he reads because my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, flipping the screen up to view the message.

 

_Your class takes forever._

I smirk before typing back, _I wrote a sex piece, and I was thinking about you._

_Hot damn._

_Essentially.  Are you already outside?_

_We got out early.  Stop texting; Salerno’s glaring at you.  I love you._

_I love you more.  Kisses._

I shut my phone, knowing Spencer won’t write back, and it’s another twenty minutes before class is let out.  I skip out ahead of William, where he’s mingling with Alex’s two friends, and I smile as I see Spencer sitting across the hall.  He instantly stands up when I exit, grinning over at me.  I meet him at the wall, kissing him softly and lovingly.

 

“Ahem, get a room,” a voice says from behind us, and I part from Spencer, smiling at him before turning and cocking a hip at William.

 

“We have a room, and you frequently walk in.”

 

“At inopportune moments,” Spencer adds, straightening and sliding his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.  “Who’re your friends?”

 

“Okay, don’t laugh at them, but they’re all named Alex,” William starts, and I arch an eyebrow, “Spencer, this is Alex DeLeon.  The other two you can call Marshall and Johnson.  They’re coming to lunch with us.  Spence, have you seen Nick anywhere?”

 

He shakes his head, and so we leave the Education Center before heading across the street to the Student Center.  Lunch is fun, and I can definitely see us being friends with the three Alex’s next year.  William is antsy, however, though our worries are soon answered when Nick walks into the dining hall closely followed by none other than Ryan Ross.  They’re talking, and I hit William, making him turn.  He sees what I do, and his eyebrows are knit together when he turns back.

 

“What the fuck would he be doing with Ross?” he snaps, and Spencer looks up, eyes going wide.  I instantly feel his hold on my hand tighten, and I squeeze back reassuringly.

 

And then Nick has the audacity to walk over _with Ryan_ and put his stuff down.

 

“Are you daft?” Spencer spits when Ryan sets his jacket down on the chair next to Nick, “You can’t sit there.”  I can feel my heart racing in my chest, and I’m feeling more nervous than I have in a long time.

 

“Fuck you, Smith,” Ryan snaps, and he actually walks away.

 

“I want to leave,” I mumble, but Spencer’s already moving.

 

“Are you staying?” he asks to William, who shakes his head.  “What about Nick?”

 

“I’ll talk to him later.  I’m sorry, Brendon.  I don’t know why he would ever do this.  Uh, you guys might wanna sit over with your group or something,” he adds to the Alex’s, “Ryan’s kind of a dick, and I would advise you not to interact with him at all costs.”

 

They nod and quickly follow his advice as I don my jacket and hurry away from the table, my empty plate and cup in hand.

 

“What?  Can’t have a civilized lunch, Urie?” Ryan snaps as I turn away from putting my dishes through the window.  I stiffen, and he takes a step closer.

 

“Get the fuck away from me,” I hiss, shaking my head and shoving past him.  He grabs my arm, and Spencer gets caught waiting for a crowd of people to go by, but his eyes are locked on us.  “Ryan, leave me alone,” I order, voice firm, “Or I’ll call the police.”

 

“Always running away,” he laughs, tugging me closer to him, “You can’t even face your own problems.  You let _Spencer_ come after me, and then the police.  You never could stick up for yourself.  You’re such a pathetic loser.  Guess it fits, being with Spencer and all.”

 

He releases me, but he’s hit one too many nerves, and, teeth bared, I jump after him, tackling us to the ground.  He’s caught off guard, and he hits the ground with a grunt as I reach down and loop an arm around his neck.

 

“You need to leave me the fuck alone,” I growl into ears air as he gasps for breath, and I just tighten my grip, “I don’t want anything to do with you, and I hate you.”

 

“You fucking love me,” he manages to get out, “You always will.”

 

“No, Ryan,” I hiss, jerking backward, “I _despise_ you.”

 

Someone pulls me off of Ryan, and I let them, emitting a soft noise as my ass hits the floor, legs crumbling underneath me.  Another set of arms hauls me to my feet, and I immediately know it’s Spencer.  One of the security guards move to help Ryan up, but he shakes them off and stalks away, angry and embarrassed.  They take one look at me, instantly recognizing me.

 

“Did he deserve it?” one of them asks.

 

“I have a restraining order on him.  So yes.”

 

They nod, and we’re allowed out.  When we exit the Center, Spencer winds his fingers with mine, sighing.  “What happened?”

 

“Nothing.  Don’t worry about it, okay?  He didn’t hurt me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And, for the rest of the day, he’s on edge, always glancing toward the window and then at the door, and he actually keeps the door locked while we’re in the room.  I try my best to distract him, and it works to some degree.  Two hours after the incident, we’re to be found playing Twister.

 

“Your door is locked!” a voice cries from outside as Spencer reaches to spin.

 

“Stay there, I’m not as tangled,” I say before sliding away from the board and going to open it.  William comes in, locking the door behind him, and I go back to my spot.  He sits on my bed, chatting with us amiably, but I can tell something’s off.  Finally, we finish the game, Spencer tripping and tumbling over, and I look up at William from the floor.  He tries to keep up the happy atmosphere, but I shake my head, pulling myself up and going to sit next to him.

 

“What happened?” I ask, taking his hand in mine.

 

“Nick and I broke up,” he admits, nibbling on his lower lip.

 

“Not over Ryan,” I gasp, squeezing his hand, “Beck, you know you didn’t have to do that.”

 

“It wasn’t just that,” he admits, and Spencer sits up, staring up at us worriedly.  Silence settles over us, and I can tell he’s trying to compose himself.  “He’s fucking him,” he finally says, and a hiccup breaks through his defenses, opening the flood gates.  I pull him into my arms, and he cries into my shoulder as I stare down at Spencer in shock.

 

“How did you find out?” I ask after a length of time, rubbing his back.

 

“I walked in on them,” he mumbles into my shirt before pulling himself up and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.  Spencer goes to get him some tissues, which William takes gratefully.  “I was so pissed about what happened in the dining hall today that I went to go confront Ryan about it, if only to threaten him or something, and his door was open, and I walked in, and he had Nick face down on the floor.  I really fucking loved him,” he says, frowning, “I waited for him to be ready, and I gave him my whole heart, and look who was the slut in the end.”

 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I whisper, leaning into him.

 

He shrugs, and we sit in quiet for a little while until Spencer claps his hands together.  “I think it’s dinnertime.”  His stomach answers him, and I smile over at him, my adorable boyfriend.

 

\--

 

Later that night, around one, I’m more restless than usual, and so Spencer puts in a movie, setting it atop his dresser so we can cuddle while watching it from my bed.  Even then, I can’t help but shift every once in a while, and, finally, Spencer sighs and pushes on my shoulder until I’m on my back.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, propped up on his elbow.

 

“I dunno,” I mumble, shrugging, “I guess I’m just thinking about this summer.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Well, we don’t exactly live close.  I know why you stayed during Christmas break, and we didn’t get to see each other at all during February break.  A week is fine; I can keep myself preoccupied, and I know you can, too, but I just feel like not seeing each other for three months is going to be difficult.”

 

“We’re going to see each other, I promise,” he murmurs, pulling me close, “Brendon, I love you.  Nothing is going to separate us.”

 

“Okay,” I say with a smile before leaning up to kiss him and then turning in his arms again to continue watching the movie, my mind at ease.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIKE THIS CHAPTER. IT’S ALL KINDS OF ADORABLE.

_March 12, 2007._

I bang my head on the desk, causing Spencer to look over his shoulder, and I grumble something incoherent before pushing my chair back and leaning forward to switch the song on my iPod.  One of my heavier electronic songs come on, and I pop out of my chair, and Spencer _laughs so hard_.  I’m thrashing around the room, sometimes moshing with myself, sometimes breaking into real, choreographed-like dances, and sometimes just dancing sexually at him.  As the song is nearing its end, I fall onto my bed and kick the wall.  The next song plays, and there’s this little muffled shriek from the room next to us before I hear movement and then William’s door slams and ours busts open.

 

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” he shrieks before loping across the room and pulling me off the bed.

 

We actually made a dance, three years ago, and Spencer’s jaw drops as we slide into sync, our motions perfectly aligned with the other, and it’s four minutes of crazy dancing before the song ends.  After that, William plops down on my bed and I let my knees buckle underneath me, falling with limbs flailing onto the floor.

 

“I’m fat,” I complain, pinching my flat stomach, “I can’t believe I’m already out of breath.  We used to be able to do that three times in a row.”

  
“You’re out of shape; you’re not fat.  I am,” William says from the bed.

 

Spencer and I both crack up.  “William, you’re, like, ten pounds soaking wet.  You’re itty bitty.”

 

“Let’s go to the gym, then.  Alex says he goes all the time.  I could ask him for his routine.”

 

“Alex?  Like Alex DeLeon?  That incoming freshman we met?”

 

“So we kind of exchanged screen names, oops, you caught me!” William exclaims, sitting up.

 

“You’re a total loser.  Find out tonight; we’ll start going tomorrow.  Five days a week?” I ask, looking to Spencer, who nods, smiling.

 

“It’ll be fun,” he intones.

 

Fun it was.

 

When we get to the gym the next day at eleven o’clock in the morning, our first order of business is to change.  William, thank God, doesn’t wear the tiny shorts I’ve seen too many times on him, and is instead dressed in black basketball shorts and a thin green vneck.

 

“You’re gonna sweat,” Spencer reminds, rolling his eyes when I brandish my Superman t-shirt.

 

“Bring it on, sweat stains!” I holler before squirming out of my jeans.

 

“Classic, Bren.  Don’t even tell me your shorts match.”

 

“Really?  You had to wear the yellow ones?” Spencer groans, covering his eyes.

 

“Well, I didn’t have any yellow shorts, so it’ll have to do.”

 

He instantly drops his hands, staring at me in shock as I pull on red shorts.  “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever dated,” he says before coming over to kiss me lightly.

 

Spencer, always the logical one, is wearing black on black, which we quickly note is helluva boring.  We start off with two fast laps around the track before heading into the weight room where William pulls out his phone to check what we’re supposed to do first.  While he does so, Spencer and I take turns lifting the heaviest weights we can, going down the line until I nearly drop one on my toe, and he glares at me while I just giggle and put it back.

 

“First set: 15 reps of chest press, 15 reps of leg press, and 15 reps of lat pull down.  Two rounds in total.  Cool down with another two laps.”

 

“Meh, not bad,” I say before flicking my fingers over the weights until I settle on a 20lb.  “I’m little,” I comment when William arches an eyebrow.

 

“You’d be surprised.  You also never stop moving.  You’ve probably got muscle that you don’t even know about,” William returns, and he gets a 15lb.  “Like you said, ten pounds soaking wet,” is all he says.  Spencer is all cool and gets a 25lb.  We glare at him.

 

Turns out Spencer is actually some kind of arm god from another world because he totally kicks our ass in the chest press, but we’re pretty much matched in the leg press.  William is overall still ten pounds soaking wet, and the poor kid is panting when we finish our second round.

 

“I hate both of you.”

 

“And why’s that?” I sing, bumping hips with him as we start our laps.

 

“Because you both drum, _not to mention_ have crazy sex all the freaking time, and, honestly, Brendon, you move in your sleep.”

 

“You drum?” Spencer asks, looking at me skeptically.

 

“I do everything, but most often you.  Bah dum ching!”

 

“You’re cool,” William and Spencer say at the same time, sending me the same glare, and I just roll my eyes before stopping and stretching into a lunge.

 

“What are you doing?” William asks, sounding exasperated, and Spencer gives a little shout as I jump up and sprint past them.

 

“Fucker!” they both shout after me.

 

I manage to get in four laps to their two, and we’re moving onto our second set after a quick water break.  This one consists of 15 reps of shoulder press, which William and I hate with all of our beings, 15 reps of alternating lunges, which William beasts at, 15 reps of bicep curls, which we all race each other at, and 15 reps of the rope pull down, which quickly turns into a competition between Spencer and I.  Two laps later for them and four for me, we head into the main room where William looks at his phone three times before finally sighing and going over to the huge yoga balls.

 

“Shut up!” I exclaim as he grabs one, and I instantly get one of the small-sized yellow ones.  “I’m so excited!” I continue, rolling it over to the mats in the back.  We do 20 reps of crunches while balancing our backs on the balls before rolling down so that our shoulders rest on them and doing these extremely awkward gyrating-the-air-things.  Following that are 8 reps of ab twists, and then we finish with a five minute stretch, Spencer grumbling through the whole thing.  When we finally finish, I’m bouncing circles around them, more awake than I’ve felt in a while and _quite_ excitable.

 

“You need to calm down,” Spencer laughs, taking my hand and forcing me to a slow walking pace.

 

“You guys wanna go to Walmart?” I ask, wiggling an eyebrow at William.

 

“Yes, fine, dork face, but let’s just get the car now.  We can park it up front and drop our shit off so we don’t have to walk all the way back here.”

 

We oblige, and we’re quickly piling into William’s classic Buick.  Walmart brings quite the adventures.  Spencer and I take to torturing William in the toys section, and we spend an unnaturally long time sword-fighting with the Nerf ones until he finally squishes in between us and takes a sharp jab to his ribs.

 

“Come _on_ , children, I need cereal.”

 

“I think he should get Raisin Bran,” I whisper to Spencer, smiling as he laces his fingers with mine.

 

“I want Cap’n’Crunch.”

 

“You’re so cute.  Can we get Cinnamon Toast Crunch, too?”

 

“Fruit Loops and Apple Jacks while we’re at it?”

 

“You’re totally my boyfriend.  Oh, hey, I don’t know if you’d be up for this,” I stop abruptly, and Spencer follows my motions.  We’re frozen in mid-walk, and William just glares at us before continuing on, “but I kind of wanna try lube,” I admit, shrugging, “What do you think?”

 

“I think it’d be fun.  Don’t they—” pause, glare, “—have, like, different kinds, too?  We can—” pause, glare, “—see what might be fun.”

 

“Also—” pause, glare, “—I wanna put you on your back.”

 

I’m surprised Spencer actually pauses with me after that, but as soon as William turns, he faces me, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Just making sure you were serious,” he says after a second before continuing along.  We spend the next five minutes trying to sneakily flat tire William until he spins unexpectedly and drops his arm around my neck, pulling me into a headlock.  I let out a girlish scream, letting my knees give way under me, but William doesn’t give up, and Spencer just laughs.

 

“I’m too cute to die!” I whine, and William smirks, releasing me.

 

“Stop acting like assholes.  And what did I hear about Spencer on his back?  Can I watch?”

 

“You’re such a perv,” Spencer grumbles, taking my hand again.

 

“Look, I’ve been trying to get inside of you for, like, three years.  I’m simply curious to see how—what?” he breaks off at my open mouth.

 

“You and Spencer.  Oh wow,” I mumble.

 

“Brendon, we’re in public,” Spencer sighs, bumping hips with me.

 

“Yea, and?  William, where are we going?  Oh my gosh, can I get Monster?”

 

“ _No_!” they both chorus a little too loudly, receiving a few glares.  I just pout, causing Spencer to smile and rumple my hair.

 

“Did you know you’re really little?” he comments suddenly, releasing my hand and instead slinging his arm around my waist.

 

“Yes, Spencer, thank you for the very clear observation.  But you’re still shorter than William, _who is a giant_.”

 

“I’m not a giant,” William sighs.

  
“You have a giant’s cock, though.”

 

“You’ve seen it?” Spencer interrupts, looking over at me.

 

“On multiple occasions.  Hey, you’re not the only one he’s tried to fuck.  I haven’t let him either.”

 

“I’m proud of you.  I didn’t think you’d managed to avoid his flirtatious boy charm.”

 

“Eh, sometimes I almost can’t.  Just look at him.  He’s fucking _adorable_.”

 

“Very true.”

 

William is, at this point, shaking his head, shoulders slumped.  We continue on this train of thought for a while longer until we reach the food aisles, and we spend the next two hours picking out various items, two large stacks of cereal taking up the back of the carriage.  We’re just exiting the bread aisle when William suddenly lets out a squeak and rushes away from us.  We watch as he hugs Alex DeLeon, and I smile, kissing Spencer’s clothed shoulder.

 

“He likes Alex,” I mumble, and Spencer just nods.

 

“He totally does.  Hey, I’ll race you to the pops.”

 

“Can we get multi-colored ones?” I shriek, running off, and Spencer just laughs heartily before following me.

 

\--

 

_April 9, 2007._

 

When I wake up that morning, something doesn’t feel right.  I’m anxious and fidgety, and I actually push myself out of bed at four o’clock in the morning because I’m afraid of waking up Spencer if I keep fumbling around.  I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, and I sigh, rubbing my face.  I haven’t felt like this in a while, like I can’t sit still, like my heart is racing through my chest too fast.  Sometimes, I get little spells of hyperactivity and I feel like I’m going crazy, like my skin is going to peel off at any second if I don’t run around in circles.  They don’t happen often; in fact, they’ve diminished into nearly nothing, but sometimes, just sometimes, they creep up and I can’t stop myself from pulling at my hair and dancing my legs up and down.

 

Finally, after some time trying to calm myself down and failing, I go to dress in grey sweats and a navy vneck, slipping silently into my sneakers and out the room.  I leave Spencer a note on our whiteboard on the inside of the door so he won’t panic.  When I’m finally outside, it’s still so early, and dawn hasn’t even touched the sky yet.  I take in a lungful of the crisp morning air before running through a quick series of stretches.  When I finally pull out of my last lunge, I start off at a slow jog, and I don’t have headphones or music, I just have the quiet of the morning and the steady rhythm of my feet against the ground.  I’m at peace.

 

It doesn’t take long before I’m running harder and faster, pushing myself, and, an hour later, when I finally pull to a slow jog again as Mallett comes into sight, I’m breathing a little heavily.  I’m calm enough when I walk back up the stairs and into Mallett, but I stop by the water bubbler before heading into the bathroom anymore.  When I slip back inside, Spencer is still asleep and snoring obnoxiously.  I smile to myself and wipe the note off before plopping down on my bed with my laptop.  I fumble inside my nightstand until I find my brightly colored headphones and pop them in, sticking the other end in my ear jack on the side of my laptop.  I waste my time rewatching the first and second season of Doctor Who because I’ve been keeping up with the third season while we’ve been away at school, and the most recent episode just came out two days ago.  I haven’t watched it yet, but I’ve been wanting to rewatch the seasons anyway, so I figure now is as good a time as any.

 

At some point, however, I fell asleep again.  I wake up at eight o’clock to Christopher Eccleston ranting crazily about something.  I’m startled awake from a weird dream, and I push myself up, rubbing my eyes tiredly.  I pause in the beginning of episode five to yawn and stretch.  When I glance over, Spencer’s _still_ asleep.  We don’t have class until one, so that’s to be expected, but I know I’m not going back to sleep now.

 

And so I sigh and unplug my headphones, playing the show again.  The Doctor goes on as I go to get my Yoga mat.  I spend the rest of the episode waking up my body and relaxing myself.  Nothing works to calm my nerves like these routines do.  When I finally finish, it’s just about nine o’clock, and I look over to Spencer.  He was up late last night working on a paper that’s due in a week, and he’s been so tired lately, so I leave him in peace, shutting my laptop and going to dress.

 

I go simple, just black skinnies with Doc Martens that I don’t tie, a white sweater with two buttons on each shoulder and thumb holes, and I forgo my contacts because my eyes are dry and I’m feeling like looking nerdy today.  I leave after tucking my ID in my pack pocket and my phone in my opposite front one.  I lean against the wall next to William’s door as I slide down the lock bar on my phone, slip through the combination, and then flick over to my favorites where his goofy face resides.  He picks up on the second ring, to my large surprise.

 

“I was literally just tying my shoes to come get you.  I haven’t slept, and I heard you watching the Doctor earlier.  Breakfast?”

 

“This is why you’re my best friend,” I say with a smile before hanging up.  He exits moments later, and I can’t help it.  “Hot mess,” I tease, nudging him, and he just sticks his tongue out before holding out his hand.  I lace mine with his because that’s just how we are, and he squeezes our laced fingers before leading the way.  He’s wearing these suck-the-life-out-of-you-skinnies that are almost purple, but definitely a weird, dark blue with blue and white plaid button-up left untucked over it, the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows.  He’s left the two top buttons undone, and his hair is getting a little long, so it’s all shaggy and hanging around the nape of his neck.  All in all, he really is a hot fucking mess.

 

When we get outside, William lets go of my hand and instead drapes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close for a moment before just walking normally.

 

“Have I told you lately that I’m really happy for you?  I mean, I just fucking love Spencer and you together.  He makes you practically glow.  I’m really, really happy you found him and he gave you the courage to move on.”

 

“Thanks, Beck,” I say with a broad smile, “You’re making me blush, idiot.  I love you, you know that, right?”

 

“Fuck yea.  And I love you.  You’re my best friend, Bren.”

 

“Talk to me about Alex.”

 

“God, I thought you’d never ask.  Here I was, thinking I’d have to compliment your sweater or something—by the way, you’re so gay—which I like, regardless, but yea,” he breaks off with a lopsided grin, and I just laugh and bump hips with him, giving him the okay go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously just had so many heart attacks. I loved writing this last scene. It was just freaking ADORKABLE. Also, I wrote it right after I finished _this is not my heart_ (WHICH YOU SHOULD GO READ), and so I think I was feeling the Beckett/Brendon love,  <33


	9. Chapter 9

_May 22, 2007._

_Lunch, bitches._

I press the button on the top after sending the group message to lock my phone before sticking it in my pocket and waving to Kathryn before I head out of the Disney Store, pulling my name tag off from around my neck and sticking it in my back pocket.  I stop by Starbucks just as William is making stupid faces at one of his customers, and I laugh as I realize it’s Alex.  William throws his apron through a door near the back of the store before greeting me with a squeak and a kiss.

 

“Freak,” I tease, rubbing my nose against his before taking his hand.  Alex takes his other, and I just laugh before tugging them away.  We gather Spencer from Journey’s, though we have to wait until he finishes up with a customer, and then wait some more as I greet him hello.

 

“Just because you’re not getting action,” Spencer grumbles in reaction to William pulling on his ear.  I just smile and wrap both of my arms around Spencer’s midsection, squeezing against him until he laughs and ruffles my hair, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

 

“So, food.  I’m not just here because I like you guys,” Alex comments, and we all laugh before heading through the mall to the food court.

 

It’s a normal occurrence, the four of us hanging out and eating lunch together, especially since our shifts coincide.  More often than not, Alex’s don’t, but he usually comes anyway.  Today, his shift at the Disney Store starts at three, so he’s got another hour before he’s due in, and we’ll be here for fortyfive minutes.

 

I order McDonald’s while Spencer gets Umi Chicken, William struts over to D’Angelos, and Alex sticks with me, nibbling curiously on his bottom lip as he stares at the menu.  Eventually, he gets chicken nuggets, and I make fun of him the entire way back to the table.

 

“I love you,” I say as I sit down, leaning over and kissing Spencer adoringly, to which he responds happily, and I can feel his smile as his lips move against mine.

 

“I love you more,” he whispers when he part, reaching up to kiss my nose and then my temple, “You’re beautiful.”

 

I blush, gaze fluttering away, and I’m left staring at my double cheeseburger for a few seconds before I can regain function of my body.  And, even then, something else steals it away.  I’m just reaching for a fry when my phone beeps obnoxiously, and I tug it out of my pocket, sliding through the combination before opening the message.  My entire body freezes.

 

_Bren, I doubt you still have my number, but it’s Kara.  I don’t know why I’m sending this.  I, uhm… I just wanted to see how you were doing.  Okay, actually, that’s really lame.  I was visiting mom and dad yesterday, and your picture isn’t on the mantle.  I mean, I knew that, but I just kind of forgot, and then I walked in, and I was about to tell her I saw your name on the Dean’s List, but your picture wasn’t there, and… I’m sorry, Bren.  This sounds really strange, I’m sure.  Give me a call sometime.  I miss you._

I feel like I’m going to vomit, but instead of letting her words control me, I silently put my phone to sleep, stick it in my pocket, and pick up my sandwich.  I don’t speak during lunch, and I know everyone notices.  When we’re getting ready to head back from our breaks, though, they don’t bring it up.  Spencer even goes so far as to part ways early with William, kissing my forehead.  He doesn’t say a word, for which I’m grateful, and even Alex doesn’t talk, not up until we’re just around the corner from the Disney Store, and he sighs, wrapping his hand around mine.  It’s comforting, and I cast my gaze downward, blinking back tears.

 

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I just want you to know I’m here,” he says softly, “Look, if you smile, I’ll sing you Tarzan’s lullaby, okay?”

 

And I can’t help but smile as I look up at him, and he just returns the expression before squeezing my hand and then releasing it as we reach the store.

 

\--

 

_May 24, 2007._

Her number is just sitting there, staring at me, and all I can do is stare back at it, helpless and hopeless.  I can’t understand why she would contact me, after all these years, and it burns a hole in my chest to even see her words.  I’ve blocked out all of the bad memories of the last time I saw my family, the last time I heard my mother’s hysterical voice, screaming at me to leave before I corrupted her family.  And there it is, Kara’s number, hovering about her message.

 

My phone beeps, and I blink, staring at the little message icon in the notification bar.  I slide it down, eyes settling on the first few words that are viewable.  _Kara said she messaged you._ Valerie.  I knew instantly.  I open the message, fingers shaking, and there it is.  _Kara said she messaged you.  At first, I thought she was kind of insane, but then I realized how much I miss you in our life.  Matt, Mason, and us two girls hang out all the time, and, well, it’s nothing like the old days.  If you manage to call her, maybe give me a shout?  It’s Valerie, by the way.  Love you, Brenny._

This time, I’m definitely going to vomit.

 

William isn’t home to here (he’s out on a date with Alex), so I’m left to the peace and quiet of the porcelain bowl and without the aftereffects of William screaming about being gross.  When I finish, my stomach is still churning, and so I go to get water and Saltines, rubbing my face as I head back to the couch.

 

It’s a small enough apartment, nothing crazy, but it’s cozy, and I can definitely see William and I living in it for quite some time.  It’s close enough to campus, too, so we won’t have to stay in the dorm rooms in the coming fall.  The first floor has a little kitchen built into the back wall with an island and four chairs surrounding it.  Our couch, black (not leather) to met the rest of the décor, is a few feet from that along with a loveseat, an armchair, and a rickety old TV that William brought from his house.  Separated from the main part of the first floor is a long hallway, one wall entirely made of windows, which leads into William’s bedroom.  Just before his door is the bathroom we share, and my room is up the curving stairs that lead from the couch, along the wall, and up onto the loft that’s blocked off by a railing.  My bed is pushed against the wall, which is made of rectangular windows that stretch up across the ceiling and are separated by a foot or so in between.  They’re not too large, and they make the room sunny enough usually that I don’t use lights until I’m only guided by the stars, and usually then, I don’t even use them.  All of our furnishings have come from the money we make at the mall and that we had saved up.  It’s expensive, but with Spencer moving in soon, it won’t be too bad.

 

I stare at the two messages again, their meanings identical, and it hurts so much.  I don’t know if I want to call them or if it’s even a good idea, but I know I should.  They’re reaching out, and I should reach back.  But why?  I groan and shove a Saltine in my mouth, crumbs tumbling over my shirt.

 

Sighing, I grab my food, chuck the bottle of water up over the railing to my room, and jog up the stairs, phone in my other hand.  I flop down on my bed and click on Kara’s name, hit call, and put it on speakerphone.  She answers on the third ring.

 

“Hello?”  I don’t know if I can actually say anything.  I don’t even know what to say.  I haven’t talked to them in almost four years.  “Is anyone there?”  I stare at my phone, tears pricking at the corner of my ears, but that just makes me angrier, so I stuff another Saltine in, chomp on it, and answer.

 

“It’s Brendon.”

 

There’s absolute silence on the other line, and I can just imagine Kara deciphering what I said through my mouthful before she breaks into a large grin.  “Brendon?” she repeats, shocked.

 

“I got your message.  And Val’s, actually.”

 

“So she did text you, then.  I wasn’t sure she actually would.  Uhm… where are you?”

 

“At my apartment; why?”

 

“You have an apartment now?  I thought you crashed at your friend’s house.”

 

“That was four years ago, Kara,” I bite out, “And, even then, I only stayed at Patrick’s for a month or two before I got myself a shitty one-room apartment,” I almost laugh at her intake of breath; the good Urie children never swore, “But now William and I are sharing an apartment.  Why?” I repeat, rubbing my face again before reaching for another Saltine.

 

“Well, I’m with everyone right now, minus mom and dad.  Do you, uhm, do you want to come to lunch with us?”  I seriously feel like the world is about to drop out from me, but, oh God.  They really are reaching out.  “You don’t have to.  Just… just it’s been a long time, Bren, and we all really miss you, and I think it would be good, I think everyone would be happy.  Mason is freaking out just by the idea of seeing you.”  That did it.

 

“I’ve always been here, Kara.  If Mason is so excited just by the idea, he could have satisfied that excitement a long time ago.”  And I hang up.  I can’t do it.  I can’t let them poison me again.

 

\--

 

When Spencer shows up later that day, I’m dozing, covered in Saltine crumbs and my opened water bottle on the floor, my fingers wrapped loosely around it.  I left the door open for him earlier because I knew he’d be coming by and that I’d probably be incapacitated as such.  I first notice he’s here because I feel his fingers on mine before he takes the bottle and caps it before he brushes the crumbs from my back and hair.  Seriously, I have no idea how they got everywhere.

 

“Bren,” he coos, perching on the edge of my bed and stroking my back, “Bren, what’s wrong?”

 

“My fucking family loves me again,” I grumble into my pillow, only somewhat coherent, both verbally and physically.

 

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

 

“I fucking hate them,” I respond with, moving my fists up to my eyes to rub the sleep out of them, “They’re gonna brainwash me all over again.  It’s just like them, to act like nothing ever happened and they’re so excited just at the idea of seeing me again.  Well, fuck that.  They could’ve seen me four fucking years ago, and they decided not to.  Assholes.”  By now, I’ve pushed up off the bed and am gathering my things to put the crackers away downstairs.

 

“Brendon, I’m sure they’re not trying to brainwash you.  They probably just want to—”

 

“THEY FUCKING DESERTED ME!” I scream, and I can’t even believe I’m taking his out on Spencer.  I throw my bottle violently until it crashes on the wall downstairs, and I even chuck the crackers at the floor.  “THEY KICKED ME OUT BECAUSE OF WHO I AM, AND IT’S BEEN FOUR FUCKING YEARS, AND _NOW_ THEY CARE?”  Spencer just sits there and takes it.  “The audacity,” I spit, “I can’t even believe they think they have any claim on me anymore.  It would be one thing if it was my parents because they’re fucking psychotic and it _would_ take four years—hell, it’d take an eternity before they ever opened their arms to me again, but my _sisters and brothers_?” I scream, voice rising again, “THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO STICK BY ME NO MATTER WHAT, AND THEY FUCKING ABANDONED ME JUST LIKE MY MOM AND DAD, AND NOW THEY THINK THEY CAN JUST WALTZ BACK INTO MY LIFE, AND I’M LETTING THEM!  LOOK WHAT THEY’RE DOING TO ME!  I can’t—I can’t even fucking breathe.”  I stumble because everything is spinning, and I feel like my head is going to split open.  “Spencer, I can’t breathe.”  He jumps up at the same time my knees hit the ground.  My vision is blurring and blacking around the edges, and I blink, trying to refocus my eyes, but _I can’t breathe._ “Spencer,” I gasp out as he scoops me up off the floor and I feel a jostling as he hurries down the stairs.

 

“Stay with me, Brendon.  Hey, stay with me.  Just keep listening to my voice.”

 

And I would have, because I love Spencer’s voice, but then I can’t feel anything, and my world shuts off, just white  noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE. CRAZINESS.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME: I am fully aware that Pete Wentz started Decaydance. I’m not an idiot; I know this. However, for the sake of this story, he didn’t. Patrick did. OH SHIZNIT.

_Spencer._

_May 25, 2007._

“So, a heart attack?”

 

“No, dumb shit, not a heart attack.  Cardiac arrest.”

 

William glares like his life depends on it, and I just roll my eyes and turn back to Brendon.  After nearly forgetting to do CPR and then finally driving him to the hospital today, this is the first time we’ve been allowed to see our nearly-died-best-friend.

 

“So, you just found him like this?”

 

“Seriously, Bill, do you ever listen?”

 

“Look, I know you’re pissed off right now, but—”

 

“Hey!” Alex overrides, much to my gratitude, “We’re all freaking out, but that’s no reason to bite each other’s heads off.  Spencer, I’m sorry.  Can you explain what happened again?  You were kind of going insane when you first told us.”

 

I nod, running a hand through my hair and over my unshaven face before speaking, “I came over because we’d already made plans, and he was half-asleep on his bed, so I woke him up and asked him what was wrong, and he just flipped out about his family.  I looked through his phone, and, I mean, I don’t really know who his siblings are, but he called someone named Kara and had two text messages, one from that Kara and another from a Valerie.”

 

“Those are his sisters,” William confirms, sighing, “He has two brothers, too.”

 

“Matt and Mason?  There was something in Valerie’s text about them.  Anyway, he was pacing and throwing things, and, all of a sudden, he was saying how he couldn’t breathe, and he just collapsed.  I ran downstairs with him and was halfway out the door when I realized I should probably try to resuscitate him, so I did that, which apparently saved his life because he wouldn’t have started breathing again if I hadn’t.  I brought him here, and they told me it was cardiac arrest.  It’s different from a heart attack because a heart attack is when the blood flow to the heart is impaired, but cardiac arrest is when your heart just stops altogether.  And now he’s like this, and I hate his family.”

 

“At least we’re on the same boat for that.  I can’t believe he would fucking call her.  They just left him out to dry,” William grinds out, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he says after a few moments, looking over at me, “I’m just worried, okay?”

 

“I am, too, trust me.  But, they said, hopefully, he should wake up when the meds wear off, which should be in an hour or two.”

 

“I’m starving.  We should get food so we’re not all pacing around his room and staring at him,” Alex says, and I know he’s probably not really that hungry, but I also know he’s trying to be supportive and a good friend, and I appreciate it to the utmost.

 

“Yea, that sounds like a good idea.”  I offer him a thankful smile, and he responds with a nod before leading the way out.  I place a soft kiss on Brendon’s forehead before following them out, and we even leave the hospital because we can’t bear to be in there for much longer.

 

When we get to Friday’s, via William’s driving, there’s a very familiar face walking out of the building wearing the restaurant’s uniform.  “Patrick!” William yelps as we get out, confirming my suspicions.  They meet like old friends, embracing tightly.  “Were you just getting off?  You should join us for lunch!”

 

“Ugh, _here_?” he jokes, shoving William lightly, “Spencer, man, good to see you.”

 

“Oh!” William exclaims as Alex shyly steps up next to him, “This is my boyfriend, Alex.  Alex, this is Patrick.”  They shake hands like polite little men before Patrick leads the way back into Friday’s, and we get a table for four.

 

“So, are you going to school with these nerds in the fall?” Patrick asks of Alex as he returns from the bathroom, now changed out of his work uniform and into tight, light jeans, a collared white button-up, and a black vneck cardigan buttoned up over that.  He looks handsome, to say the very least.

 

“I am.  It’ll be my first year.”

 

“Yea, you look young.  Cradle robber,” he shoots at William.

 

“Fuck you,” William retorts, but he’s smiling, “So, how’s the world?”

 

“Boring.  I’m getting out of this place soon.  I’m putting together my own record label.”

 

“Shut up!” the three of us exclaim at the same time, staring agape at him.

 

“Dude, sign me, or I won’t be your best friend ever again,” William says, and I look over at him, arching an eyebrow.

 

“You don’t even have a band.”

 

“Yes, actually, I do.  Some best friend you are.”

 

“Oh, piss off.  What’s your band?”

 

“The Academy Is…,” he states proudly, straightening and puffing out his chest a little, “I sing.”  Alex laughs, and I smile over at him knowingly.  “Fuck you guys; I have a good voice.”

 

“How come I’ve never heard of your band before?”

 

“Because you’re supremely lame.  Patrick.”

 

“Yea, man, just get me a demo.  Alex, before you crap yourself, you can send me one, too.  I mean, the label won’t be up for a little while longer; I’m still in the beginning stages.  It’s gonna be called Decaydance, though.  It’s gonna be awesome.”

 

“Did you, like, go to school for producing and such?” Alex queries, looking crazily curious.

 

“I did.  I just finished my last year, actually.  I’m thinking it’ll be all up and ready to go by, like, September.”

 

“I might kiss you when we actually sign the contract, fair warning,” William says, and I can’t help but laugh.

 

And then Patrick erases all smiles, “Hey, where’s Brendon?”  When we all fall silent and gloomy, he jumps to the wrong conclusion, “Oh my God, what happened?  How did it go south?”

 

“No,” I say, putting up a hand, “We didn’t break up.  Not even close.  He’s, uhm… he’s in the hospital.  He collapsed yesterday morning, and he’s supposed to wake up in a couple hours, but we needed to get out of there.”

 

“Makes sense.  Do you know what happened?  I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t pry.”

 

“Nah, it’s cool.  His heart stopped, I guess?  I don’t know.  He was ranting and raving, and he just stopped suddenly and fell over.  But, enough of this doom and gloom.”  As if on cue, our waitress shows up, and we order drinks, an appetizer, and our entrées.

 

“So, are you still with Pete?  Man, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” William complains.

 

“It has been a while.  I’m not, actually.  We broke up, like, wow, last year, I think.  I’m kind of seeing this guy Craig right now, but we aren’t really an item.  Just mostly dates and the such.  Also, I met this guy, Spencer.  I meant to call Brendon about him, but I keep forgetting.  He plays guitar; he’s totally insane.  His name is Ian Crawford, and I think Brendon would be interested, especially with Dallon helping him out now and everything.”

 

“Uhm… what?” I ask, entirely confused.

 

“He didn’t tell you?”  There’s this silence that’s kind of scary when I shake my head, but then Patrick rolls his eyes, “Typical Bden.  I think he was going to surprise you.  He wants to form a band, though, when I last talked to him about it, he just wanted it to be you and him, but I think he wasn’t sure if you’d be up for that.  He was trying to find musicians to play with live if you guys ever got, like, serious and did tours and such.  I know Dallon is down for it; he plays bass.  I mentioned it to Ian, too, and he seemed pretty excited.”

 

“I feel like such a jackass,” William picks right up when he finishes, “I’ve known about this for a while, but Brendon made me keep quiet because he wanted to feel you out a little more and see if you’d really like the idea of being in a band and all that, but I know he was going to ask you soon.”

 

“No way,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling, “That’s amazing.  Dude, that would be just… wow.  That would be so cool.”

 

“And look, if you and him really want to do it, I’ve got a record label,” Patrick boasts, and we all just laugh.

 

\--

 

When we head back to the car, William whines about driving and throws the keys at me.  We part ways with Patrick before piling in, and William instantly fishes around in the glove compartment until he finds a mixtape (literally) and pops it in.

 

“God, your car is old,” Alex teases from the back.

 

“So am I,” William returns quickly, smirking.  He puts on some lame ass song that I actually totally love; he said it was called _The Author_ , and I smile when his voice kicks in.  It’s so him.  We listen to this scratchy, ambient-filled demo ep all the way back to the hospital, and William talks about his different band members, which Alex and I ask plenty of questions about.  It’s crazy, and I love it, and I can’t even believe Brendon wants to start a band.  I only hope he wakes up.

 

When we finally pull into the hospital parking lot again, I’m feeling worn out.  I haven’t slept the last two days, and the stress of everything is starting to get to me.

 

“Hey,” William murmurs, wrapping his fingers around mine, “Everything is going to be okay, you know that, right?  You’re so strong, Spencer.  And so is Brendon.  He’s going to pull through this, and then you guys are going to be famous, just like me, okay?  And we’re going to be best friends forever, and someday, maybe, you’ll let me fuck you.”  I laugh at the last bit, squeezing his hand before he releases my hand and stops us, pulling me into a tight hug.  “Don’t ever forget that I love you.  I need you in my life, Spence.  I’d be lost without you.”

 

I can’t help it.  Brendon in the hospital and William acting like the world is about to end, and I just fall apart, right there in the parking lot, in front of Alex, wrapped up away from my worries in William’s arms.  And I just cry, my tears soaking through William’s shirt, but he doesn’t say a word.  He just holds me closer, tucking his chin on my shoulder and his nose in my neck.

 

“Everything is going to be okay,” he whispers, and I nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON’T KILL ME, OKAY?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve kind of subtly decided that everything is pushed forward two years. Like, in this, you’ll see that they call From Under the Cork Tree new, even though it was technically released in ’05. So, just pretend? Okay!

_June 17, 2007._

 

Brendon didn’t die.

 

In fact, he woke up ten minutes before we walked back to his room.  Two doctors and a nurse were crowded into his room, checking his vials and asking him questions when we returned, but his eyes found mine almost instantly, and he smiled.

 

“Spencer,” he’d said, and everything was okay.

 

Currently, we’re upstairs in his room, he seated on his bed and I crouched behind my drum set, trying to hold still while his laptop records.  Ever since he got out, he’s been talking nonstop about his band idea, which I promptly brought up the day after he was released from the hospital.  We’ve been working on putting a few songs together, and the one we’re working on currently is called _Camisado_ , and he’s doing various piano parts for it right now on his old, beat-up keyboard that he got when he was little.  It’s a dance-sounding song, but it sounds really raw with only the piano.  We’re doing my drum track after and then his vocals, which he always gets nervous to record in front of me.

 

I look up when he clears his throat, noticing that he’s paused the recording and is doing some preemptive mixing.  “How does it sound?” I ask, arching an eyebrow curiously.

 

“We only have a few layers down,” he laughs, smiling over at me, “I was thinking about adding some guitar over the crazy stuff.  What d’you think?”

 

“I think you’re a genius, duh.”

 

“Har har.  Play your drums.  I’m going to start working out the songs we want on the demo.”

 

He hits play, and I start in on the ten second mark, pounding away to the rhythm I know so well while he scribbles away in his music notebook.  I always knew he was musical, but actually putting together a demo with him is a whole other world in itself.  The amount of instruments he can play is astounding in and of itself, and the things he’s come up with while recording just blow me away.  Of course, I have many of my own contributions, and we always write lyrics together, but I just can’t help but smile everytime his eyes light up with a new idea.

 

I finish the track while he’s still hunched over, and I smile, whispering his name.  He nods, and, after a few seconds, he sits up and pauses the recording before leaning back over.  A few moments later, he straightens again and looks over at me.  “I don’t know, but,” he pauses to look back down at his list for a second, “Okay.  Martyrdom, Camisado, Esteban, Sins, and Lying.  What d’you think?”

 

“I think we need to hear them.”

 

“I know, I know.  But, do you _think_ it’d be good?”

 

“Totally; I just want to hear them all together before we decide on it.”

 

“Yea.  Yea, you’re right.  Spencer, we’ve done nearly half an album in, like, not even a month.  We’re insane.”

 

“We’re excited,” I correct, and he just nods, laughing.  “So, we’re doing dinner with Dallon and Ian tonight, right?” I confirm, stretching my back.  I haven’t met them yet, but Brendon keeps promising they’re great guys.

 

“Yea, we are.  I told Ian we’d pick him up cos he’s still a baby and doesn’t have a car, but Dallon is crazy.”

 

“And old,” I finish his sentence, causing Brendon to laugh.

 

“Yea.  Yea.  Yea, okay, so, you wanna do your track with the crazies?”

 

“After you kiss me.”

 

“Oh, psh,” he tuts, but he gets up anyway and comes over to kiss me delicately.  Our more electronica nonsense on the songs, what we call the “crazies”, is still in the works, but I love every bit I’ve heard of it so far.  Everything is all still a work-in-progress, but it’s so much fun.

 

\--

 

_Brendon._

 

Spencer actually has a little hissy fit as we’re getting ready.  He’s all nervous about meeting the guys and impressing so they definitely sign on to play live with us, and I can’t help but laugh at him as he fixes his hair for the thousandth time before we head out of the apartment, making sure to first kiss William goodbye and ruffle Alex’s hair, and down the three flights of stairs to the street where his car is parked.

 

Spencer is dressed in dark jeans that show off his legs and make my smile a little wider.  Topping that is one of his old band t-shirts that’s a weird rusty color, though it’s underneath a light grey green button-up that he has the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows.  His hair is all perfect and parted and sweeping across his face, and I can’t help but kiss him a few times before he pulls out.

 

I went a little more casual in black skinnies under my messy and mostly untied Doc Martens, a thin, loose red vneck with a pocket that Spencer likes to stick his fingers in and tickle me, and my dark grey navy jacket with the uniform-style buttons.

 

We hold hands while he drives, and it’s a half hour journey to Olive Garden.  We blast Patrick’s newest album with his band, Fall Out Boy, _From Under the Cork Tree_ , singing along and being stupid until we’re waiting to take the right, and Spencer turns it down.

 

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re amazing?” I murmur, lifting our locked hands to kiss the back of his.  He smiles, wide and genuine, and I know I’ve done it.

 

We get inside fairly easy, and we grab a table to four and sit to wait with our buzzer.  We’re not there long before I hear the door open, and I look up to see a head full of curls, smiling to myself.  Ian.  After calling him to double check that we’d pick him up, he said that Dallon lived a few streets over and would grab him on the way.  And Dallon comes in right behind him.  I nudge Spencer before standing up and going to greet them with manly embraces.  Our buzzer goes off just as Spencer is shaking hands hello, and we’re seated in this cozy little booth with an adorable old waiter, and we’re all ordering drinks as we get comfortable.  We settle on the bruschetta appetizer before mulling over our menus for entrées.  Spencer finds my hand under the table, and I just smile.

 

Spencer ends up getting the Ravioli di Portobello, Dallon gets the Venetian Apricot Chicken, Ian settles with Chicken and Shrimp Carbonara, and I order the Seafood Portofino.  After ordering, we ease into a comfortable conversation that feels so natural and wonderful, I can tell Spencer’s happy, and I know I certainly am.  We cover a million different topics, and we do touch upon touring together, which they seem genuinely excited about, though there are no official claims made.

 

By the time we’re finishing dessert, I’ve decided the night a success, and I can hear it in Spencer’s laugh that he agrees.  We bid the guys good night at the parking lot, and I wait until we’re in the car and pulling out before I clap my hands together and giggle.

 

“I know.  It went really well.  Look at us, being all professional.”  I laugh at him, but I’m feeling the same way.  We go over the finer moments of the night, applauding ourselves, though I’m a little touchy by the time we’re heading into our neighborhood, leaning over and pressing kisses to Spencer’s exposed neck.

 

“Bren,” he moans, trying to lean away, but I just lick a small circle in the curve into his shoulder before biting down and sucking.  His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, and he groans, head falling back against the seat.  “Bren, really, I have to drive.”

 

“So drive.  There’s the street, don’t go on the other side, and don’t crash.”  I palm his crotch, thumb sliding over the growing bulge in his pants.  He shifts, and a small gasp escape his mouth as I lift up his shirt and kiss along his stomach before popping the button on his jeans.

 

“Fucking hell, Brendon,” he groans loudly, his chest heaving and I pull down the zipper with my fingers and lick into the opening in his boxers.

 

“What do you want, baby?” I croon before folding his boxers down so that his hard cock is flesh with my hand.  I take the head in my mouth, sucking lightly and licking along his slit.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, banging his head against the seat with each profanity, “God _damn_ it, Brendon,” he growls, “I want to fuck your mouth.”

 

“What’s that?” I purr, kissing up his length and teasing his balls with my tongue.  He tempers the brake, and I reach over my other hand to grip his thigh, steadying myself before I take him slowly into my mouth, relaxing my throat and breathing through my nose.  The other hand I use to hold his hip, keeping him from bucking, and he moans so prettily as my head bobs and my tongue swirls.

 

“God fuck Christ shit,” he swears, shakily pulling into his parking space before parking the car and collapsing back into his seat, fisting one of his hands in my hair.  He cards his fingers through the dark brown layers, shaky as he does so, and I smile around him as salty precum tickles my tongue.

 

“Fucking hell, Brendon,” he repeats, trailing his fingers up my back to resist pulling at my hair.  The motion makes my eyes heavy and my skin tingle, and I can’t stop the moan that breaks from deep in my throat, Spencer responding with a breathy whimper.

 

“I’m close,” he gasps, one hand fisting in my shirt, “Fuck Brendon, I’m so close.”  I use my elbow to push him back a little because he’s leaning before fidgeting the hand on his thigh between his leg and running the pad of my forefinger over his entrance.

 

“F-f-fuck,” he moans, and I gasp, sealing my lips around him as he finishes with a small thrust, shaking and panting.  I pull of slowly before swallowing and wincing at the taste.  Spencer points to the glove compartment, and I just smile before hunting for tic tacs and tissues.

 

“Spencer, baby,” I whisper after popping a tic tac and kissing his ear, “Would you do me a favor?”

 

“Anything.  That was amazing, by the way.  That was, like, _the best_ head I’ve ever gotten.”

 

“Hm.  Just wait until I have a better angle.  Anyway.”

 

“Mhm?” he murmurs sleepily, kissing my mouth softly.

 

“Can I fuck you?” I whisper, just soft enough that he almost doesn’t hear, “I’d really like to.  I’ll be careful, I promise.”

 

Spencer blinks, and I think he’s going to say no until he turns to me, eyes wide and a small smile curling his lips.  “I trust you.”  Spencer hoists his boxers and jeans back up after that, and we head out of the car and into the building, holding hands and giggling and stealing kisses.  He’s just tugging his keys out of his pocket when I loop my arms around his waist and start kissing him all over.

 

“Brendon,” he laughs, sticking the key in the door and pushing it open.  He turns to kiss me, and I capture his mouth, sweeping him away from the adorable and into the lust.  His fingers curl around my forearms as he kisses back, strong and wanting.  I lick into his mouth, sighing as he pulls me closer and I slip my hands into his back pockets, giving his ass a squeeze.

 

“I want you out of these clothes,” Spencer suddenly breathes out, breaking apart and tugging at my jacket.  “I want you to fuck me,” he continues, and I groan softly, following him as he steps into the apartment.  My jacket falls unheeded to the floor before I kick the door shut, Spencer rolling his eyes and going to get his keys out of the front.  The lights are out, and I’m pretty sure there’s no one on the couch, so I unzip my pants and wiggle a few fingers in, not touching but teasing.  Spencer turns, notices, and is against me in a second, pulling my hand out of my pants and kissing me fiercely.

 

“Right here,” I whisper, stepping back to the living area.  “On the floor.”  He grins wickedly before lowering me onto the couch.  “Oh no,” I murmur as he tries to straddle me, “My job.”  I twist until he’s sitting and I’m on top, rocking into him as I slowly unbutton his shirt.  We shed our clothes rather fast, move the coffee table, and Spencer’s on his back on the red shag rug.

 

“Give me two seconds,” I whisper before jumping up and jogging off to the stairs.  I return with a condom and lube, eyes glinting in the moonlight.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you so much, Bren,” he returns, leaning up to kiss me.  We stay like that, naked bodies pressed together, just rocking slowly until I’ve had enough and I sit back, resting on my heels as I coat my fingers.

 

“Ready?”  He nods, and I pressure one finger against his entrance, waiting for him to nod again before I slowly push in.  He settles, and I give him time to adjust before slowly curling my finger, loosening him up.  The second goes in almost unnoticed, though he bites back a gasp as I push into my knuckle.  “Just breathe,” I whisper before scissoring my fingers, and he grunts, shifting.  I reach, fingers ghosting over his prostate, and he gasps, tightening.  I smirk before curling the pad of my third finger around his entrance for a few moments before pushing in and picking up a rhythm.  He surprises me by rocking back onto my fingers, and I look up to see one of his hands fisted in the rug.

 

I lean down, lapping my tongue over the sensitive skin of his upper inner thigh before sucking on his head briefly.  My fingers come out with a soft _pop_ before I fit the condom on and rub lube onto my hard cock.  He stares at me as I line up, his knees pulled up.  “Here,” I offer, holding out one of my hands to him.  He laces our fingers and pulls me forward to kiss our fingers, shifting my angle.  He nods, and I very slowly push into him.

 

“Fuck, Spencer,” I pant, forehead falling to his shoulder, “Breathe, okay?”

 

“This isn’t my first time,” he snaps.

 

“It doesn’t matter.  You’re fucking _tight_ ,” I growl right back.  He slowly relaxes after that, and I pick up a steady rhythm at first until he starts moving in time with me and begging for _faster, please_.  I feel heat pooling in my stomach a lot faster than I would have liked, but being inside of Spencer is all sorts of amazing, and I’m having trouble controlling myself.

 

“Fuck yes,” Spencer suddenly groans, and I smirk as I feel his hand rub against my stomach.  He shifts, causing me to, and he moans as I pass over his prostate.

 

“Shit, Spence,” I gasp, fingers fisting in the rug as I move my hips faster and faster.  “Oh, fuck, fuck, Spencer, I’m gonna come.”  He finishes a second after me, arching up and inhaling sharply.  I shudder and let my arms collapse, falling against him and groaning.

 

“That was so good,” I mumble against his bare skin, and he just laughs, carding his fingers through my hair.

 

“It really was.  I’m so tired now, though.”

 

“I’m hungry.”  Spencer laughs again, and that’s what decides the rest of our night.  We make grilled cheese and soup, take it up to my room, and fall asleep to some cheesy B horror movie that’s playing on the tube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE YOU GO! I figured we hadn’t had anything hot and steamy lately, :D

**Author's Note:**

> Modeling the school after mine, so don’t yell at me. It’s relatively small and uncomplicated, so it shouldn’t be too confusing to grasp.
> 
> ALSO, YAY. I haven’t actually written a good, full-length Panic! slash (we’re not counting those stupid moments in trainwrecks; they don’t really exist anyway), and so I’M PUMPED. Hope you enjoyed, :D


End file.
